There are occasions when one must reluctantly admit that he may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer.
Last week, unfortunately, seemed filled with those events, and try as I might it wasn’t even possible to place the blame on mental decrepitude brought on by advancing age.
In one of the unceasing torrential downpours that are plaguing us lately, I was driving home along the new and not quite completed Whatcom Connector when, the wipers struggling to beat back the flow, something lodged beneath the blade on the driver’s side.
That caused a huge streak to form directly across my line of vision, requiring remediation if I was to continue to drive safely.
Since rain was thrashing down, and having previously solved the problem, I did what I normally do while continuing to drive: wait until the wiper reaches its apex, shoot my arm out the side window, momentarily flick the blade off the windshield and dislodge the offending piece of crud.
Now, I happen to wear my wristwatch with the face on the inside of my wrist, a quirky habit that, among other things, allows me to surreptitiously glance at the time during long meetings or other events where I’d rather not be any longer than necessary.
Coincidentally, as I shot my arm out the window I drove over one of the humps in the road that shield the manhole covers until the final coat of asphalt is laid on the new road. The resulting thump caused my wrist to catch against the side window frame, tearing off the watch and sending it a graceful arc onto the roadway.
Since the watch has considerable value, I quickly stopped and ran back to locate it, horrified as a number of cars following me were driving right where I thought the watch had landed. And there it was, looking like road kill, the bracelet in one location, and watch itself further down the road, displaying evidence that both had been driven over.
At a gap in traffic I ran out and gathered up the pieces, bruised though relatively intact. The watch, as a commercial for another timepiece once said, “though taken a licking, kept on ticking.”
The next day, parts in hand, my favorite watch repairman in Sevenoaks gave me a grim look, observed with veiled admonishment that substantial repairs were in order and leaving me with the impression that rehabilitation would an expensive affair. Three days later the watch was back on my wrist, bearing scars but performing perfectly – the bill a mere $15!
On my way home with unspent cash in my pocket, I stopped by a pet shop to buy my pup two new squeaky toys.
Thus discovery number two of dumb things not to do. Don’t get puppies excited right after they’ve eaten. The pup, as usual, hoovered his food. Then as a treat I tossed him his new toys.
It was rather cute watching him haul and maul each one, squeaking the guts out of them. A few minutes later he came up to me wagging his tail, all sparkly-eyed and happy, and hiccupping like crazy. Thinking (wrong word) he’d just overdone the speed of his food intake and that he needed a little more time to digest it, I spoke some silly dog-talk, patted his head and continued reading the book I was engrossed in.
Five minutes later, there on the hardwood, was his dinner.
Apparently not finished with (or understanding) my lapses in mental acuity, a couple of days later I decided to show off said pup at the office. Much to my horror, embarrassment and lengthy assertions that he never does it in the house, he again chose to evacuate, though this time the food had been amply processed.
I wish I could say I’ve learned a lesson or two, but knowing myself, and human nature, I know no matter how smart you think you are, you’ll eventually do something stupid again, and again and …
