Distracted … Again
It happened again. It happens far too often. The trauma and embarrassment of distracted dressing struck again, or very nearly so. Here’s my story.
The day started out innocently enough, but little did I know, the evil that is distracted dressing was going to unleash upon me with all its wrath. As I do every morning, I cut up carrots into bite-sized chunks, (horse bites, not human ones) then don my chores coat. I return to the kitchen and fill the one, intact pocket, before putting on my running shoes. Running shoes? Running shoes to do chores, and be around horses? Yup, running shoes. After months of massage therapy to fix plantar fasciitis several years ago, I can’t wear anything else. Boots kill me within a few steps, and I have enough pain in my daily life. I don’t need to invite more. Anyway, one hand on my near overflowing pocket to keep the carrots in, I struggle into my footwear, and head outside. Darn it, it’s freezing out, back inside for gloves. Good, now I’m ready to go. Thirty feet from the house, I turn and go back. I forgot warm water for Balloo the rabbit. Off with the runners. Get the water. Struggle back into the runners, go water and feed the girlchild’s impatient bunny. Heading off again, still mindful of the carrots, I got just past the buildings, and realized I needed a hat. Man but that’s a cold wind. More specifically, I needed a toque, something warm that covered my ears and prevented brain freeze. My poor brain struggles enough. I surely don’t need, or want to make it suffer even more. Another trip back to the house on my poor, complaining hip I injured a few years ago, and I was finally good to go. Except for my runners. I’d accidentally put on my good, go to town ones, istead of my do chores ones. After quickly changing my footwear, I was off again.
Horses hollering for attention had to wait just a tad longer. I had forgotten to grab Jim and Auroras senior feed. I felt both guilty and amused by their reactions, when I turned around and headed back to the quonset. Clearly, it was the end of the world. Clearly, I was leaving and not going to feed them, or Ranger either. Of course he added his demands to the din. Despite being on pasture, they would surely starve. The desperate neighs that followed me, said as much.
“Where are you going? Come back, Bossy Pants, come back!”
The drama of it all, honestly.
Once all the horses that needed feeding were, horses all got their chunk of carrot, and troughs were opened with the hammer I had to go back for, I headed inside. Looking forward to wrapping cold fingers around a hot mug of something tasty, I was ready for a break. I almost contemplated doing the dishes, as it’s such a hand warming task. I dismissed that idea, almost as quickly as it had popped into my head. Such a silly idea, doing dishes, pfft.
I had a mocha coffee while sitting in my favourite chair, watching a little bit of television. Always on the hunt for a deal, the girlchild found something in the city, and we had to get going. All I needed was a couple of minutes, to change my pants. Grabbing a pair of pants, I quickly headed upstairs to change. A couple of minutes later, I was back downstairs. All I had to do was drag a brush through my hair, and I’d be ready to go. I wasn’t changing out of the top I was wearing. A castoff from my son, the top was like new, long sleeved, comfortable and warm. It had graphics on it that weren’t my style, yet I didn’t care. It’s already a favourite top.
The second I caught sight of my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I had to laugh. Not only was my top on inside out, it was also backwards. Had my family said a word? Nope. Distracted dressing had struck again!
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