Call Me Clueless

I’m not a rocket scientist; neither am I a buffoon. I’m a college graduate, after all. I’ve been a copy editor/proofreader for the past twenty years. I’m raising two teenage boys. (You need at least a modicum of intelligence to pull that last one off!) But sometimes I’m absolutely clueless.


Hmm . . .

If you’re worried that your brain sometimes goes on vacation without the rest of you, take heart: You are so not alone. I know because my friends share their blunders and brain blips with me. I suppose they don’t want me to feel too bad about myself.

Here’s the short list of the dumb things I’ve done.

I sometimes emerge from the shower with conditioner still clinging to my hair. I forget that whole final rinse thing, even though it’s right there in plain English on the bottle.

I once “introduced” two friends who had known each other for several years.

Recently I had to run three errands in the same plaza. Bank: check. Dry cleaner: check. Grocery store: duh. Drove. Right. By. It.

Getting ready to go to the YMCA one evening, I put my exercise pants on inside out and then thought, Have those tie strings always been on the outside?

toast-1077984_1920If I find myself staring at the toaster and wondering why a slice of bread hasn’t yet been transformed into a slice of toast, I must eventually ask myself, “Did you press the lever, Kris? Is this appliance even plugged in?” (Yes, this is generally the time when I start talking to myself and referring to you-know-who in the third person.)

Then there was the time I insisted I knew how to get to a school field trip at the airport fire station. No, I didn’t need directions. No, I didn’t need to follow someone. Thirty minutes after everyone else got there, I sheepishly arrived, hoping to blend in as if my son and I had been there from the get-go. No such luck. Everyone stared and giggled as we approached. How fortuitous that I was able to get directions after the fact, yes?

Not a clue.


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