The small signage below the rearview mirror reads, "Objects in mirror may appear closer than they are." WTH? Useless advice for a driver suffering from dyslexic depth perception, now isn't it?
Nothing against mirrors. I view them as reflective portals to other realms, and I like to see what's coming at me from all angles. For me, mirrors are purposeful and perform mundane activities, like spotting the occasional glimpse of spinach in the teeth, makeup application, and hair combing (though not much time is spent there, as just a few swipes with a Barbie comb are sufficient). I am at least blessed with hair-loss equality—it seems to be falling out evenly. And that's a good thing, because I can't tell left from right when doing the Donald Trump comb-over.
Decisions requiring up, down, left, right, backwards, forwards, or sequence may take a millisecond longer for me, and because I am ambidextrous, I can screw up even more with complex dexterity.
My kaleidoscope eyes have given me a substantial collection of goose eggs and escapades in life, more so if I am upset, tired, or in a hurry.
For example, after pulling a double shift at work late one night, I inched the car into my driveway and to a stop. Here's where the tired dyslexia kicked in—I moved the gear shift down three notches on the PRNDL12 stick instead of up three notches to PARK.
Ok, we lived in NC, where hills abound. A nice steep slope at the end of my driveway trailed off through a grassy knoll and into the woods. I was in the house giving salutations long before the roll started. I remembered that I left something in the car a few minutes later and went to get it. No car! I ran back into the house hollering, "OMG, the car has been stolen! Don, call the cops, the car is gone!" You would have to know how ugly my car was to get that joke.
The kids and Don ran outside in the dark. Don had a flashlight because it was super dark down the dirt road. We were heading back to the house to call someone when I sheepishly remembered that the keys were on the kitchen table. At that same instant, Don's flashlight picked up a red taillight in the woods. At that moment, I actually wished the car had been taken. The "stolen" car had rolled off into the woods. Shaking his head the way he would do to this day, Don went into the woods to back the car back through the kudzu jungle and sappy baby pines to its rightful place in the yard.
I would like to think that my escapades have subsided in frequency. But for precautionary sake, I still do what I can to eliminate in-house confusion. I don't rearrange furniture. If I sit something down in a spot I deem worthy, it will stay there forever.
But every now and then, the things that are pretty permanent will jump out and get me. As was the case this weekend. I came home with a few things from the grocery store to a quiet house. Don is napping in bed after exhaustive rounds of Sunday football, and all is well and predictably and happily normal. I opened the top kitchen cabinet to put stuff away. A can of fruit cocktail fell onto the floor. I reached down to get it, came back up, and BAM, caught my head with the cabinet door. Not the usual stars this time—stars AND stripes. When I was able to reason, I went to the freezer to get some ice for the spongy knot growing out of my head. I gingerly walked to the bedroom. Don looked so peaceful in bed that I decided not to wake him with my latest faux pas.
I took the flashlight into the closet to check my eyes for dilation. I followed my finger with my eyes, whatever the hell that does when you are doing it to yourself. The phone buzzed on the counter with the busy chatter of my Ya Yas. I decided to hook up with my people so at least someone would know what had happened.
I joined in the convo somewhere around a backyard get-together with icebox tater salad. Rubbing my head I wondered, "Should I come on strong with prayer-warrior request for my head or subtly drop the injury into text?"
I'm greeted with, "Oh yeah, nice of you to join us from your Sunday nap."
There are three Ya Yas close to middle age in this MMS text. One has autocorrect and double-checks her autocorrect, one knows how to spell, and the other is trigger happy and sends everything that autocorrect suggests.
Me: Ice bag on head. "Feeling a little nauseous."
Me: (Following a thread about getting together) "I'm in if I live. I almost knocked myself out on a cabinet door." (My hopeful plot is to suggest that I may need help or at least make someone aware.)
Ya Ya with autocorrect: "Have another glass!"
Me: "I'm scared to drink the first one now."
Ya Ya who trusts autocorrect: "Ice it Shasta an call it a day." (Note: Shasta means sister on spell check.)
Ya Ya with autocorrect: "A day? She's been sleeping all afternoon."
Ya Ya who trusts autocorrect: "He, he he"
Ya Ya with autocorrect: "There was this story on the news the other day about a state of mind between sleep and awake called drunk sleep (insert two paragraph tangent here)
Ya Ya who trusts autocorrect: "BAhaAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaa"
Ya Ya with autocorrect: "Lawd, (it now recognizes her slang) the directions our conversations head! From benches to tater salad to sleep to who knows where. I love it!"
Me: "If there ever were such a thing as extra terrestrial beings, they'd get together on a Verizon satellite to listen in on this group."
Ya Ya who trusts autocorrect is losing concentration here and has missed a few posts: "I made baby white lima beans over rice and boiled baby ukons with butter and herbs an cheese corn muffins."
Me: "That sounds good."
Ya Ya with autocorrect: "Ukons? Have you totally disabled auto correct?"
It goes full-out rogue here.
Ya Ya who trusts autocorrect: "must have, let me check, Hispol oori sh."
Ya Ya with autocorrect: "Seriously lmao, I love y'all so much!!!"
Ya Ya who trusts autocorrect: "Live 6 to you"
Me: "Oh God, we need an interpreter."
Ya Ya with autocorrect: "Live 6 to you also, as I type through tears."
Me: "Bridge 105.5 out. How the hell am I supposed to determine if I have a concussion with you guys?"
Ya Ya with autocorrect: "You do have a concussion. Drink wine."
Ya Ya who trusts autocorrect: "Soon over ice box tater, salad. You are fine shasta."
Me: "I am not outing my wine over potato salad."
Ya Ya who trusts autocorrect: "Want me to flute hit you?"
Me: "I'm not sure, never done that before, sounds like fun though"
Ya Ya who trusts autocorrect: "Come get you!! You want me to come get you??"
Me: "No, I will tell Don to wake me up and flute me every two hours."
Ya Ya with autocorrect: "Lord I love ya'll."
Me: "Yeth, me too!"
Which pairs well with a concussion. White or red wine? Yes, I think I will. Take two mornings and call me in the aspirin.
Note: I am making light of a serious condition for a lot of people. Both the bad texting and concussion. These gals would have been right there if there were iniment danger.