So there I am on the sofa in our sun room, which this time of year is more like the cloud room, but regardless I am there. I am relaxing. I am
contemplating the meaning of life sleeping.
The doorbell rings. The dogs start barking like there is an axe murderer on our front porch.
I get up to go let the axe murderer in. I’m pretty sure it is the tow truck guy (well, what would you call him) who has come to start my daughter’s car. Her battery ist kaput and I couldn’t jump-start it with either our van or my jeep. He said he’d be here in 90 minutes, which gave me plenty of time to contemplate the meaning of life.
But he still could be an axe murderer, because I can’t see at this point.
I look around for my glasses. I always put them on the coffee table by the couch while I am contemplating things. But they are not there.
As I pass through the kitchen, I try to search for them–but they are not in any of the places they usually are when they are not on the coffee table while I am contemplating things.
Worse yet, I can’t see more than a couple of feet in front of me without them, which makes finding them more challenging.
As I pass my office, I check in there to be sure I didn’t leave them on my desk or near the computer, which is where I always leave them when I am working on the computer and contemplating important things, like why I haven’t written a blog entry since January 24th.
The dogs are still barking as if the axe murderer has now killed someone on our porch, or perhaps he’s just getting ready to jump-start our door bell.
So I grab my spare pair of glasses–the ones I generally wear to run–because I can actually find them and I want to be sure the man–or woman, sorry to sound sexist–on my porch is a tow truck person and not an axe murderer before I open the door and allow my dogs to feast on his or her flesh. Wow! That was one sentence. I believe I broke several rules of grammar there.
So after opening the door, restraining the attack dogs, and ascertaining that the man is actually the tow truck guy, I head out to watch him jump-start my daughter’s car with what looks like a small suitcase with jumper cable clamps attached. Yeah–the batteries from our cars couldn’t start this baby. Good luck with your little PlaySkool kit there.
Well, to my surprise, the portable defibrillator he brought started the car right up. I know when you stick a screwdriver into an electrical socket, bad things happen. I call it being handy with a screwdriver. I never could understand electricity and when you start talking about cold-cranking amps you might as well be speaking Greek. Ampere is actually derived from the French physicist, but I can’t speak French either. He could probably resuscitate a dead person with that suitcase, but they would awake to two battery clamps pinching their nipples. That would not be a pretty sight.
Speaking of sight . . .
As I was watching him do CPR on my daughter’s car, I ran my hand through my hair (okay, what’s left of my hair) and lo and behold . . .
I found my other pair of glasses!
Just call me six eyes.
To his credit, tow truck guy never said anything or laughed out loud at me.