You also need to know that I could get lost in a hallway and that driving on the interstate makes me pee my pants.
So anyway … last week when a tractor-trailer got close enough to my car to kiss me on the cheek, I panicked and took the first escape route.
Then I found myself lost.
“No problem,” I thought. “I’ll just reroute the trip.”
Not such a good idea since my extremely rigid GPS chick wants nothing to do with other options.
“In 400 feet, make a U-turn,” she said.
“Are you kidding me?” I squealed at her over the traffic noise. “If I had a death wish, I would have stayed on my previous route!”
“At bleh bleh street, turn left to find 465 East,” she said.
Ms. GPS repeated her opinion.
I again told her nope, that was not going to happen.
“Don’t be such a pansy,” she was suddenly done with professionalism. “If you want to get home before midnight, you’d better take my advice.”
“I’m not doing it,” I snapped back.
“If you want to see Idaho, stay on the route you are currently using,” she said sarcastically.
“That sounds fun,” I said with a shrug. “I’ve never been there.”
“You’re a moron,” the GPS woman snapped. So I dismissed her.
I probably don’t need to tell you how lost I really was. ...
Lost enough that, after initially driving the wrong direction on Washington Street, I ended up on State Road 67.
If you are familiar with my unusual trek, you know that that level of lost required some major lack of directionality!
Over all, it was a great way to be lost.
By only requiring that my car head south, I made some completely spontaneous turns and drove home through the country. I was finally surrounded by green, my city-inspired headache faded fast.
I assumed I was on my way home with no more drama.
But I was – of course – wrong.
Very innocently I reached for my purse on the passenger seat.
With my eyes glued on the country road, now golden with the color of a fast setting sun, I fumbled around inside my purse until my fingers located a stray mint.
Soon after popping the mint into my mouth I was stunned by a new sensation.
“Hmm,” I muttered. “Why is my tongue burning?”
As I pondered that, I rubbed my eyes at a traffic stop, reminding myself that I was nearing home territory.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is exactly when my right eye caught fire.
Now with only one good eye, I slowly but immediately pulled off the road and sprinted into a gas station bathroom.
Fighting the urge to stick my whole head under the faucet, I plastered a wet napkin to my eye and stuck my tongue out … right there under the cold water.
For a moment I wondered how I would explain my behavior if another woman entered the rest room. For all I knew I might breathe fire like a dragon
I wracked my brain. Why did I feel like sparks were flying off some prime body parts?
That’s when it hit me. ...
My brand-new pepper spray … Yes, it was in my purse. It must have somehow leaked. Now it was wreaking havoc on my tongue and in my right eye.
I’m not sure which one is worse.
Is it interstate driving?
Or is it the risk of sticking my bare hand in my purse?
Sherri Coner is an award-winning journalist and humor writer who speaks to women’s groups. To learn about her books for women and to join her on Facebook, visit www.sherriconer.com.