PlazaJen: Passion Knit

Sometimes, I think, having a hidden camera on me could really pay off. For me, of course, and for you, for the hilarity of it, so much so, you would gladly pay $5 to watch 5 minutes of my life, and I would even give you popcorn, which is more than you can say about AMC.

Last night, I left Barnes & Noble and realized if I were to continue on the road I was on, I would have to turn right. South. Opposite direction of where I wanted to go. So I hang a dramatic left, and I'm driving around the shopping area, up to the backside of it, to exit (hopefully) in the correct direction. Now, this is where it gets kind of graphic and icky and I will minimize your discomfort as much as I can. The background is, I go through phases, especially in the winter, where my body decides it must move into high mucus production, and much like how the Sargasso Sea produces seaweed, my sinuses, throat and upper respiratory area are extra "full". Enough said? So I'm driving, and I do that back-of-the-hand across my nose and YIKES I get more than itchy nose relief, very gross, and now I'm flailing one hand because I have STUFF on it and I don't want to get it anywhere and I can't find a kleenex or even a McDonald's napkin. And I'm still trying to get out of this *(&*( shopping center. I hang another right. DAMMIT! That also is an exit with only a one-way option, going SOUTH! Checked my mirrors. Put it in reverse. With the Icky Hand. I then make a dramatic, crazy one-handed turn into the driveway of a restaurant. I have to grab the steering wheel with the NastyHand, and in my flailing, I hit the wiper blades. OH MAH GOD. I'm trying to do a three-point turn now, because the parking lot looks full and why go all the way in, they might see my snot, and I'm in Kansas and Johnson County and they might tar & feather me and never let me back in and I do like to shop here, especially after Christmas. So, this driveway? It's not Standard Size. I am now doing the Mike-Myers-Austin-Powers Tiny-Go-Cart Turn-Around-Maneuver. Inches forward, Inches Back. The wiper blades are still going. I hit them again, and finally get myself out of the damned driveway, and heading north, once again, my beacon, my Jackson County residence pulling me in with its Death Star Tractor Beam. And in the back of my head, I'm thinking, "If a cop sees me, I am totally going to have to take a D.U.I. test, and he is NOT going to want to hear a booger explanation for this crazy driving." Must GO NORTH. The wipers are on intermittent. WHY WON'T THEY STOP? I suddenly have a stab of empathy for my husband who always hits them accidentally and I just giggle giggle giggle at him. And then I realize what has happened. OH MY GOD the booger on my hand is gone. Now I'm completely freaking out. I'm diving for the dash compartment, and grab a napkin out. Not that there's anything TO WIPE because it's now IN THE CAR somewhere and my GrossOut quotient is through the roof. Must Be Found. I get SuperTerrier about things, and this falls into the category. It's like my entire brain shuts down and I must focus on this, it must be solved, I must dig the rat out of the hole, now, now NOW NOW NOW and everything else is just white noise and whooshing. Makes you happy I was behind the wheel and you were in bed, eh?

Right before I got to the intersection to turn North, Finally, North, to the Highway and Home, I found it. Yep. Wiper handle.

Teach me to wipe my nose like that, ever again.