As old as I am, which is old enough to remember life without google, there are some things I will never get used to. Even if I live until the time of being able to be beamed up somewhere, I still will act like a fool when I walk into a spider web.
I'll also scream and lose my mind if a bee flies into my car while I'm driving.
Come to think of it, there's a lot of things I will never be able to be cool around.
Like gnats flying into my eyeballs while I ride my bike.
Feeling something crawling on my chest and peeking into my T shirt to see an earwig wave hello with his antennae.
The feeling of sweat riverlets running down the back of my leg when I stand up from a hot, sticky car seat.
Polishing off a 25cent glass of lemonade from a kids' stand to find dead ants floating at the bottom.
Mosquitoes that purposely fly into my ear.
The smell of port-a-potties. It smells new every time.
Accidentally missing a step when you walk down stairs. (arms especially flail for this one)
Pruning the shrubs when a mama bird decides she needs to fly into my face to let me know she lives there with her babies. (good for two heart attacks)
A mouse crawling out from a heat vent in your car while you're driving on the freeway. Yes, this has happened to my neighbor.
Seeing dirt move as you plant flowers and a few seconds go by as your brain translates the sight that it's worms. (but there is a long moment of reality disconnect)
How a squirrel sits and pretends they're going to wait until you drive past to cross the street but no, SURPRISE WE'LL JUST GO IN FRONT OF YOUR CAR NOW.
Picking up a potato and your fingers expect firm but instead you get soft and pretty much, vomitus when your hand sinks in.
That first sip of milk that's gone sour but you keep drinking because your taste buds haven't caught up yet. ::shudder::
On a family outing, smelling poop, blaming all the kids, inspecting their shoes, you get in the car and the smell persists and you go on round two of blaming the kids and you step on the gas pedal but your foot slips because it is your shoe that is covered in fresh dog poop.
Feeling the wet of a toilet seat in the middle of the night.
I will be 89 years old and that one will still have me jumping up like I've got the thigh power of Conan the Barbarian.
Oh, wait, how could I forget the psychological scarring of the summer of 1979 when a band of rogue pigeons bird doodied on my GeeYourHairSmellsTerrific topknot. I was walking home from my job, still over a mile away from any fresh water availability. But I learned a lesson that day: never touch fresh bird poop. Best to let it encrust into papier-mache unless you want to walk home not only with a crown of bird shit on your head but also with what looks like white-out abuse on your fingertips.
|photo credit: Caucas'http://www.flickr.com/photos/thecaucas/2390806406/">Caucas'|
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