In the dumb moments my intuition stomps her feet in protest. But I always respond with, “Just hush.” Then I swan dive into yet another bad decision.
I have never worked hard at fixing that fault. Because unfortunately, I find too much fun and adventure at the opposite end of my character flaw.
And the result? Well I too frequently leave my common sense packed away in the back of my head.
Sometimes I use bad judgment strictly to entertain myself, such as the time I drove backward through a drive-through lane.
I was curious to see the reaction of the restaurant staff. By the way, they were not amused.
Another time, I wore my first and only pair of thong underwear to the grocery store (under my jeans, by the way). Suddenly paranoid, I was convinced that every other shopper could see my 40-year-old butt cheeks shimmy around that lace strip of fabric, so I kept my back against cooler doors whenever possible.
I drove 7 mph all the way home to avoid being involved in a car accident.
I don’t have enough sense to turn down a dare, either.
That is how I learned, at age 43, that I was beginning to grow out of my impulsive, fun-having self.
On that day a bunch of friends and I were water skiing. But someone dared me to jump out of the boat, climb up a cliff, grab a rope and swing out over the water.
Of course, I jumped out of the boat and climbed the cliff, happy to tackle the dare.
But with the rope in my hands, I peered over the edge and caught my breath.
My first thought was, “If I don’t swing out far enough, I will hit the rocks instead of the water. And then, …” I swallowed hard. “Well, then I won’t be water skiing anymore.”
My friends started to call me names from their safe seats on the boat. The worst name was chicken. Call me a moron all day long but never call me a chicken.
With a death grip on the rope, I took off like Tarzan’s chubby Jane.
When I hit the water, my poor lone ovary catapulted into my throat. That was the only injury.
Definitely, the discomfort was worth it.
I was choking on my reproductive organ. But at least I climbed back into the boat with my dignity intact.
That’s what counted most.
Through the years I have collected bunches of stories about the times I put a muzzle on my intuition in order to avoid common sense.
Accumulating a few scrapes and bruises from doing too many swan dives into disaster can take its toll. But for some reason, it is worth it to me. Call me a moron. But don’t ever call me a bore or a chicken.