I’d like to believe I’m beyond this kind of thinking. But when it comes to certain situations, I’m stupefied to discover that I’m not exempt. For example, I never thought…
…that I could miss a plane. But I did. My shock was profound; my identity challenged. Twice I howled, “Nooooo!” in slow motion, just like you see in the movies.
Inconceivable, it was, that I would succumb to the treacherous vortex of collective social interaction commonly known as Facebook.
It was impossible to imagine dating a man more cruelly victimized by technology than I am. (It’s been determined that the only place he can get phone service is standing close to a cell tower in a particular sunflower field fifty miles away.)
I never foresaw myself having a mad love affair with Chef Boyardee at the outset of menopause.
Or allowing my tolerance for golf carts and musicals to lose their edge.
Or that my feet would dry out at the stroke of midnight on the eve of my fortieth birthday.
I never dreamed I’d become obsessed with ringtones, especially the “Get Smart” theme song.
I never imagined that, in my adulthood, the word “toy” would take on whole new meaning.
Imagine my surprise when I had a recurring dream that I was Tony Soprano’s mistress.
And never did I think myself capable of leaving nasty notes under people’s windshield wipers for taking up to parking spaces.
In my defense, I do try to limit the notes to chronic offenders.