A certain person I greatly admire once said, " What is life but a series of inspired follies?" Although that man's genius is only a part of the dramatic repertoire of one of English literature's best known cynics, his witticisms are anything but. Sometimes comforting as two minute noodles or a cup of coffee, sometimes painful as the guilt-hurt pangs that plague the junk-filled stomach...and always pithy...it is as if you were on your 'high horse' and were brought down to the ground with a thud, so strong that your legs jar even though it is only a 'dream sequence'.
Well, inspired or not, to life's follies I am no stranger. In fact I happen to be blundering my way through life in a manner that suggests "learning mistakes" rather than learning from them:). Nevertheless, it helps that I am blessed with a sense of humour that, however quirky, gets me out of my scrapes; I am thankful to God that I discovered it in time.
Do you know, I once almost reached school when I realised that the one vital requirement-namely, the school bag, had somehow been given a miss by my plump shoulders? Or that I once started brushing my teeth in the afternoon, blissfully unaware that all I had set out to do was wash my hands? The number of hankies (I am sorry, I cannot call it handkerchief, purists may turn up their noses) I have lost would supply material for at least a dozen-ok, exaggeration-half a dozen scarves and my contribution to those "saving for a rainy day" would amount to-let me see-around five umbrellas? Ditto jewellery, money, once an entire purse, keys-things, in short, whose price more than made up for the underlying unintended but utterly altruistic motive for my actions.
I also note, with pity, that mundane objects -combs, phones , matchboxes, specs,what not-somehow seem to enjoy my ...ahem...forgetfulness...with a vengeance...they will have to repose just in the vicinity of my substantial person, with an innocence so deceptive that I am absolutely clueless as to their position, until I hear a crack or another such heart-wrenching sound and realise-well, that 'another one bites the dust'. Add to that a near fatal encounter with the immersion rod (water heater), burning my mom's precious pressure cooker to a ripe burgundy in my zeal for helping around the kitchen, allowing boiling milk to spill over countless times, making a fall over or trip on every bump-on the road or the carpet or steps a weekly ritual , and you may conclude-like I do , sometimes-that the much maligned word, "carelessness" is just my middle name.
As for roads , I have never figured out how any road leads anywhere at all...to me they all look the same...and hence in every sense imaginable "they all lead to Rome". That I haven't, as yet, lost my way in my own house is a great comfort to those in the know-among them my dear, harassed husband, who vows that he has never seen such a recipe for disaster.
To sum it all, it is a bad idea to ask me for directions...it is worse to depend upon my navigation skills and follow my instructions...and if you expect that I will remember the way to a particular place and thus leave me to my devices...well all I can say is, a more delusional person there never was since Hitler.
So much for my follies...I think some of them are rather original...but make no mistake (pun intended)... I ain't one bit proud about making them except that it gives me a little more room for rubbish reminiscences...you are probably saying...what a clumsy, forgetful, irresponsible...ahem...etc.
To which I will just reply, "Who knows...maybe I was born for greater things...":)
