I have a lot of notions about my future. For instance, I’ve always had this feeling that if I ever had children, I wouldn’t be able to avoid twins (this could be the reason that I’ve never been keen on the idea of having any children at all). I’ve always had the idea that I would instantly be a competent and confident driver. Another solidly felt future point was that I would end up with someone who would look like Paul Bettany’s twin. (So maybe that last one was false as far as certainty goes. A girl can dream. Stop laughing. Stranger things may have happened!) Unfortunately, that part about being a good driver instantly is false. Oh, how false they are!
Really. I’m a bad driver. I hate to admit it, but it’s true. Do you know the actual definition of hypnosis? Go look it up. I’m waiting.
Got it? Good. Yeah, well that’s sort of what happens to me when I drive. (I think this may finally prove my mom’s point about my supposed ADD…) I concentrate so hard that I sort of…space out. Yeah…this isn’t ideal. That’s why I was gripping the wheel on my way to Target today. My grandmother is down with bronchitis, so it was my mother’s brilliant idea to take her something that had me driving down the busiest street in fifty miles at dusk. Thanks, Mom. Needless to say, of course this street is positioned so that you’re driving into the setting sun…meaning that you can’t really see the traffic lights. If I had been able to see them, I’m sure that my knuckles would have appeared white. Now, this really would be a breeze for most of you. It might sound impressive that it’s the busiest road, but I’ve mislead you—there aren’t that many roads. Or people. Or…cars. HOWEVER, because my nearest neighbors are Amish, I don’t have much experience with driving on anywhere near crowded streets (those buggies are road hogs, though. Give me some credit).
On to Target.
So they didn’t have flowers, but we ended up standing in the Easter aisle (well, one of them) for about twenty minutes because my mother couldn’t make her mind up first on which stuffed bunny she wanted to get, and then on which of those bunnies had the cutest face and ears. Yeah…maybe I’m the same way, but by this point, I was hungry, demoralized and thinking about the fact that I was going to have to hop back into the driver’s seat. Oh, and then there was the chance encounter with an old friend and his girlfriend (I kept trying to figure out how he got her to date him. No, I’m not being mean—everyone who’s known him for as long as I have asks the SAME QUESTION), and I was a little preoccupied by hating how SOME people have perfects skin. Really. I’m talking like not a flaw, porcelain, perfection. So yes, then there was the jealousy factor.
When I found out that rather than leaving the city, we were going to swing around back into it, I scurried over to the passenger’s door and made my mother drive. I’m sneaky like that. We then headed…to Price Chopper. Oh, how I loathe that store! They changed the layout about four years ago, and I still can’t find my way around half the time. (I have issues with directions; once again, don’t judge me.) After telling my mom five times that she should get the white flowers for Gram, and her trying out every other kind, she picked the white ones (she does this a lot—asks my opinion, ignores my opinion, spends ten minutes of my hunger time, and then goes with my opinion). After grabbing a frozen pizza for whatever hour we finally get home at, we head to the checkout. Now, normally if the girl bagging the food had complemented me by telling me that I should be a model, I might be just flattered, but not tonight. When my blood sugar drops, I meet girls with perfect skin, and stressed, I’m not in the mood for flatterers. I know what you’re thinking, but no, I didn’t lay out all the reasons I couldn’t be a model for her…well, I did in my mind. This leeetle voice in my head was griping about how no one knows anything about bone structure these days. (Feel free! You can scream obscenities at me now. Thinking back on this, I’m sort of doing the same thing to myself. Ooh! Now can I be the lead character in a book with a boyfriend in the army?! Um…I think I’ll devote another post to my feelings on "Dear John".)
I think I can skip over my visit with Gram. I hate to say it, but she’s actually nicer when she’s sick (or on Zoloft, whichever). She liked the bunny, she liked the flowers, and I spent another hour sitting in her apartment trying not to touch anything and tidy things at the same time (which is pointless, since even when she’s sick my grandma manages to keep her apartment spotless). Basically, by the time we got home it was after eight, and I STILL have not had anything to eat.
Um…this story is really anticlimactic. Really. I finally got some food around nine, watched Myth Busters and then spent an hour chatting with people online. Oh, I painted my nails? Yeah, that’s about as exciting as the rest of the day got. So, instead of reflecting on how much of your time I just wasted, be grateful that I just described only a quarter of my day to you—I could have bored you with how many ACT practice tests I had to take or primary source documents I read, but I won’t. Please, go have a more exciting life than me! (And don’t let yourself get hungry—it lowers your metabolism.)
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