The other day I was trying to figure out how I would take off the tags from one of Annika’s toys while out in public and I thought, “Maybe I need to get a pocketknife.” This is one of those thoughts that stems from having grown up in west Texas on a ranch. Yeah. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned that before. My family lived on a ranch in Trent, Texas for seven years, during some of my formative years (7-14).
I know I’ve gotten old because I can remember a time when it wasn’t an unusual thought for a mother of four to see pocketknives at the local five-and-dime and go, “Hey, those would make nice stocking stuffers for the kids!”
Yep, I really did own more than one personal pocketknife before the age of 10. You can’t make this shit up people.
I know I’m getting older because the world has changed so dramatically since I was a kid.
When I was a child I swear to all that is holy I was certain that by the time I was the age I am now (38) we would have flying cars. I am still a little pissed that we don’t. I’m sure the technology is there, but can you imagine the bureaucratic bullshit we’d have to go through to get them in the air? Think of the traffic laws.
People would have to learn how to read longitude and latitude. We’d have hologram Stop signs. There would be airplanes constantly buzzing around drawing traffic lines and when you get pulled over, you could be all, “But officer, the white line was fading, it’s not my fault the crop duster ran out of gas!”
The thought of it reminds me a little of learning how to drive when I lived in Okinawa, Japan.
My ex was in the Air Force and we lived there for three years. In Japan, they drive on the other side of the road, because of the British occupation and all after WWII. That wasn’t the scary part. Although, I won’t deny having had plenty of brain fart moments where I accidentally drove on the right (wrong) side of the road. Luckily, it only happened on base, and the military police were pretty forgiving about that kind of stuff.
No, the scary part about learning to drive in Okinawa was the way Japanese people drive. If you’ve ever been to New York City, multiply that times 1000 and then add in the fact that the people who are screaming and honking at you speak another language and you don’t understand the street signs. Okinawa is extremely hilly too, which means if you are not on a main road, chances are you can’t see much more than 50 feet in front of you. Add in the fact that most of the roads are only about a car-and-a-half wide. That means that when you’re driving, you’re essentially playing chicken and as soon as you both get to a about 10 feet from hitting each other, you both swerve (and scream the first 20 times) and then keep on going.
It’s fucking nerve wracking at first. But then after awhile, you get used to it and it seems pretty normal. Then you move back to the United States and you’re all, “Wow, these roads are HUGE!” And then you feel sad because you feel like you bonded a little with those people you came close to dying with over and over again.
My point is, and I will admit here that I really don’t have one. I’m a little drunk. For the past few nights I’ve fallen asleep with Annika and not gotten to drink from the three bottles of wine I found on sale at CVS. Needless to say, when I awoke at 2:30 this morning, I was kind of peeved and yearning for a drink. I laid (is is that right? I don’t know) in bed for about half an hour reading Facebook and Twitter then I decided, WTF, I’m 38-effing-years old. I can get up and have a glass of wine if I want to. It’ll help me sleep. So I did.