For example, I know that I absolutely cannot deal with mice.
For whatever reason, I just never developed that skill.
At this age I don’t believe for one minute that I will suddenly change my mind about it.
It is safe to say that I will not be climbing off the kitchen counter to bond with a nasty little rodent.
Even though I have only poisoned someone once – yes, it was an ex husband but I swear it was accidental, I know that I am not a very good cook.
When it comes to baking or ironing, hammering or slicing vegetables, I am downright dangerous. An ambulance should be parked in my driveway.
Not once have I ever rolled out of bed and rushed off to a gym, either.
I know that I won’t wake up in the morning and suddenly freak out about my big old Jell-O butt.
Do I like it? No, I certainly do not.
Am I willing to fly into the gym for a bunch of stomach crunches and lunges? Nope.
I have never carried a make-up bag and comb, either.
This old chick’s life will never suddenly include all of that fuss.
I already know that I don’t see value in those things. And I am perfectly OK with that.
But occasionally, we can be side-swiped by a skill failure we didn’t know about.
We don’t discover, until too late, of course, that we cannot actually do something that we initially believed that we could do.
And so, that is exactly why I ended up stuck in that little tiny garage.
In my many years as a licensed driver, I have pulled in and out of many garages.
However, I did not realize – until I drove my car into the garage – that I was in big trouble.
“I have 2 inches of space between the right side of my car and the garage wall,” I muttered. “But only one-eighth of an inch on the left side.”
Oh no, there was no room for mistakes. But I am the queen of mistakes and mishaps. Hives mushroomed under my hair, and my right eyelid began to wiggle.
If I took out half of the garage wall with the side of my car, my landlord would likely expect to be compensated. To pay for repairs I would have to sell a body organ.
“I’ve already lost my teeth and both boobs,” I hissed. “And my bladder’s no good since I pee my pants when I sneeze.”
I sat there, paralyzed by fear. I would be late for work if I didn’t escape the garage.
“Alright, aim for one mirror to be knocked off,” I whispered to myself. “Just don’t get the garage walls or the side of the house.”
It took 20 minutes. But I escaped without a disaster.
I have been tempted to try it again – especially before winter comes.
That is because I obviously don’t have enough sense to accept that I cannot exit the garage once I get in it, unless I trade my SUV for a scooter.