Idiot

Idiot

I’ve always suspected that I’m an idiot, but I’ve never had absolute proof. All the evidence has been circumstantial or inconclusive, at best. Until yesterday. Yesterday I did something that proves — beyond a shadow of a doubt — the depth and profundity and absolute truth of my idiocy.

It snowed yesterday. A lot, and for the first time in years. But that was ok with me, because I had the day off. I could just sit at home, watch the flakes dandruff down onto my lawn, take the dog out and let him leap and gallivant and make little yellow spots here and there, eat, chill out, watch the news, play some games, and most of all not go driving anywhere. Pretty lucky.

But I went driving anyway. Because I just had to work out. It was six in the morning and I knew that if I didn’t get to the gym pronto my waistline would stop burgeoning and start overflowing, my belly would jabba the hut over my belt and down to my knees and I’d have to buy some sort of harness to contain it and I’d have to be forklifted up to bed on the third floor and the bed would have to be reinforced with steel beams to support my sudden and massive weight. It was that serious.

So I got in my car and drove to the gym. Ten minute drive on snowpack, a little swishy but no big deal. I managed to stave off imminent obesity on the treadmill and, an hour later, got back in my car, wiped off an inch of snow, and was on my way.

Until I got to the first hill. The car didn’t want to go up the hill. I coaxed. I pleaded. I floored it. The wheels spun on the chopped up mess of slush and snow that the roads had become, and I did a slow 180. The car wanted to go the other way. The car wanted to go down the hill. I said ok. We went down the hill.

I drove for a little while longer, until I saw a hill looming ahead. Not a big hill, not the kind of thing you’d worry about on normal days, nothing you’d even notice really unless you were on a bike or in a traction-free environment

So I turned right. Phew. Close one. Of course, I was aware of the fact that to reach my house I would have to go up again at some point, but I think I may have been praying for some sort of escheresque miracle, some actualized visual illusion that would allow me to navigate nothing but downhill slopes on the way up to my house.

It didn’t happen. I hit a hill. I churned and spun my wheels and did a 180. I went back the other way. I felt like a pinball rolling around in a bowl, up the side of the bowl, down the side of the bowl, up the other side of the bowl, down the other side of the bowl, over and over in ever-shortening arcs until I lay wallowing at the bottom, spinning my wheels.

But I found an exit onto a major highway and got on, hoping that it would be in better shape. It was, but only marginally. All eight lanes were gone, replaced by some sort of swampy lawless mush. Cars careened across this new landscape like they were on skis. I plunged into the chaos and was soon sliding south, destination unknown.

I managed to get off on an exit and find my way to a parking lot that contained a bookstore, a clothing store, and a Starbucks. Which was pretty lucky, when you think about it. And great planning on my part. First I could duck into Starbucks, get a hot chocolate to warm myself up (because I was still in my gym clothes, t-shirt and shorts, and had begun to freeze as soon as I turned the car off). Then I could visit Ross Dress for Less and buy a pair of cheap pants to cover my bare (but shapely and muscular) legs, and then I could go to the bookstore and hang out until the weather got better.

None of this occured to me, of course. I sat shivering in the car, watching the world disappear as the snow piled up on the windshield, until my cellphone rang. It was my mom. She said: “Why don’t you go into Starbucks and get warm, then buy some pants, then hang out at the bookstore.” She didn’t say: “Idiot.” Being a mother, and so by default and long tradition blind to her childrens’ flaws, she probably didn’t even think it. But she should have.

Anyway. I warmed and clothed myself and hung out in the bookstore til noon, and then sledded home. It wasn’t a peril-free journey, but at least it was possible. I’ve never been so happy to pull into a garage.

And I learned my lesson. Actually, I didn’t. It’s that idiot thing again. Idiots don’t learn lessons; but they doserve as object models for those non-idiots around them who can. So here’s my Christmas gift to you, my faithful non-idiot readers. I hope you appreciate it.