In which case, you should all probably make sure you’ve got a firm grip on your towels.
Or your dinosaurs.
Or whatever little shred of comfort you can find, be it a blankie, a rubber ducky, or a dirty magazine (just don’t let your mother see that).
Because I’ve reached the muddled conclusion that I am merely a natural disaster, barely contained in human form, and could be released on the world at large at any moment…!
Isn’t that frightening?
Like, about as scary as a fluffy kitten who’s been dunked in water?
See! Disastrous!
Anyway, I came to this conclusion a few minutes ago, whilst partially immersed in one of those literary abominations called ‘romance’. Yep. I acquired this book a couple of years ago, during the days when all I had to do was drive my husband to work and then wait for him to need a ride home. When that’s what you’ve got to do with your time, you can go through a lot of books…and at some point, GOOD books become hard to come by, and soon after, DECENT books are scarce, and pretty soon you find yourself in the tiny book aisle at Walmart trying to decide between a book titled The Governess Wears Scarlet, or taking your own life…and well, I chose life, and therefore also chose The Governess wearing scarlet.
I paid a full six dollars for this, mind you. It pained me.
Once out of the store with it, I promptly refused to read it. And so, imagine my surprise nearly two years later, when I came across this book sitting inside a box of computery things, and felt compelled to open it.
As you could probably guess, it’s full of men with ‘strapping thighs’, ‘broad shoulders’, ‘chiseled jaws’. And women with ‘swelling bosoms’, ‘pert bottoms’, and who ‘smell like desire’.
Oh, the shame of owning this garbage!
However, now I’ve opened it, I feel obligated to read to the very end, you know, just to find out if Lord Steele and Miss West ever stop lusting after each other and get married or anything sensible.
Anyway….that actually has little to do with my epiphany, except that it’s what I was holding when I came to my drastic realization.
What IS relevant is my absolutely impeccable sense of timing. I have the ability to move, speak, or appear at precisely the worst moment imaginable. For instance, I arrived home from work one day just as my husband was staining the porch, right in front of the door. Had I gotten there a little earlier or a little later, I would not have had to walk on his work. Or, if somebody is playing a video game in my vicinity, I will remain silent right up to and very long after any intense moment where the player could be killed…but, it is THAT moment which I happen to have something to say, and the player dies. I don’t intentionally do these things; it’s that natural disaster welling up and trying to break free and wreak havoc and destruction on the planet.
Why else would I be such a clutz, constantly causing minor damage to myself and objects near by?
Why else would I occasionally have an uncontrollable urge to chuck my shoe across the room?
Why else would I think it’s a good idea to use the spoon resting in my cereal bowl (beneath the cereal and milk) as a catapult…(Mom, did you happen to come across some Rice Chex stuck on your kitchen ceiling before you started remodeling?)…
As you can see, I’m volatile.
A force to be reckoned with.
And, now understanding why I’m such a danger (the barely-contained natural disaster waiting to burst forth, remember), I can rest easy.
…
Or maybe I should just accept that I’m merely human, accident prone, and a little bit strange.
Except, where is the fun in that?
Cristen's Corner 