Easy-Peasy

The Plan:  

A quick trip to Sam's for three specific items. Easy-peasy. 

The Reality:

A cute couple offered to help me load my three items--that morphed into12--into my SUV.  I thanked them profusely before I declined their kind offer.  I have this. Easy-peasy.

 
As I reached out to open my back door, I noticed two things: The car wash last night missed a smudge, and when my  hand approached the locked door it did not unlock.

I've always loved the way my beautiful crushed burgandy paint job sparkles and shines. But it's even more dazzling when it's actually free of dust, and road grime. So, I recently purchased an "all you can wash" pass that equaled the cost of 2 car washes a month.  I have utilized it 3-4 times a week for the past couple months, so I'm for sure getting my money's worth, and better still, the smudge will be taken care of today.  Easy-Peasy. 

 
As for the locking mechanism, not unlocking occurs for any number of reasons: The key is too far from the handle.  The clicker battery is waning. Or, my favorite: the door desires my actual touch before  it allows itself to be laid bare and vulnerable. Okay. Maybe not. 

Oh, and here lately, I've forgotten to actually lock up a couple times--albeit usually at home, between grocery unloading trips (one of the reasons I will struggle with bags lined from my shoulders down to my fingertips, and slung around my neck as if I were a horse feeding on an oat feed bag--just to avoid the 15-step return trip to the SUV). 

When my hand tapped the SUVs back driver side handle,  and there was still no tell-tale pop of an unlock,  and the door immediately swung open, I realized I had in fact left my Lincoln unsecured. Again.

Alzheimer's is going to be so much "fun" at my house! That is, if I can still find my way home.  

BTW, did I mention I actually have a Ford?

Yeppers. I broke in to someone else's SUV. Thankfully it was empty. And just as thankfully,  that cute couple who offered their assistance were not around to become my unwitting accomplices. Or witnesses against me to the PoPo.

The Stabbing

The warning started out as a minor annoyance.  Stubbornly I refused to give in to fear and alter my plan just to appease The Warner. After all, I had a right to be there.  My self-appointed mission was to rid the area of the unwanted--the undesirable--the unproductive. I would cleanse the area. I would be victorious. Right was on my side. How then could I fail? 

Simple: I would not fail. 

I did not see the blade.  But I felt it's sharpness as it sliced through my skin as easily as a hot knife battles a stick of butter.  

My precursory examination revealed a 3.5 inch superficial scratch. The wound was not adjacent to any vital organs. Though it was intended to warn me off, it only galvanized me. I deepened my resolve. I would conquer the enemy. I would succeed. I would...

Become woozy.

And notice the blood pooling at the end of the "scratch."

In that moment of heightened clarity I realized I had actually been stabbed. 

Perhaps I am not as invincible as I thought. Perhaps even Right experiences setbacks.  Perhaps I better become less philosophical and get about the new tasks at hand: ensure my personal safety and survival. 

I quickly scanned the area. The enemy had retreated. Safety. Check. Now, to ensure survival. 

I doused my wound with the only liquid I had: my beloved DDP.  I continued to bleed. But the edges of my wound were straight, even,  and did not appear to be gunked up.   I didn't think I would require stitches; however, if I did, I was confident the surgeon would have good material with which to work. 

Oddly I did not feel pain. Just that initial awareness of a scratch. Could I be going into shock so soon  after being wounded? I thought it unlikely, but picked up the pace just in case. 

As I applied clean paper napkins and pressure to stanch the flow, I whispered a quite "Thank You" for every take out and drive thru attendant who obviously thought I am the messiest diner in the the history of dinners. I decided I would henceforth endeavor to be less dismissive of their generosity.  I would graciously accept all the napkins they tossed at me. 

If I survived this ordeal. 

Emergency averted, I became angry.  This attack would not go unanswered. I would stand my ground. My task would be completed, and this attack would be avenged. Once the blood loss slowed, and my initial shock at being attacked passed, I sought out the culprit. 

It took a few seconds.  Everything appeared normal.  Innocent. 

But then I spied the evidence of my attack. Still on the tip of the blade of my smaller Red Yucca:  my blood.

I completed my task with a newfound vengeance. And I relearned a valuable lesson...

I'll take time to put on long sleeves when I weed the larger Red Yucca next.

Or hire the job out.