Jackie Wells-Fauth
Sometimes I think I am too good at shooting my mouth off. Every time I do, presto! Karma is right there, waiting to slap me back into place.
This weekend was the perfect example. I was overseeing some girls going to a speech event. I suggested, to their evident dismay, that they might save time by changing into performance clothes in the vehicle on the way. They were horrified. What if someone saw them?
“What, do you think someone will be running alongside the van on the off chance you are changing so they can get a peek?” I scoffed. “If you do it right, you could even be parked and be fine.”
Karma was listening. But I forgot all about it until I had to leave the tournament located on a college campus (never mind where) and attend a church event. I couldn’t wear the loud, emerald green school shirt and old trousers, so I went to my car (two blocks away in a steady rain) to get my change of clothes.
I dived into the car, dismayed. It was raining and the bathroom was two damp blocks away. My remarks about changing in a vehicle came back to haunt me now and for the first time in my life, I really wished my car had tinted windows. A furtive look around assured me everyone was still busy at the event. If I was quick, no one would ever know.
For anyone who thinks I quickly and smoothly changed clothes in the driver’s spot of my mid-sized car with the bucket seats, I assure you that you are not getting the true picture here.
I flung the dress over my head thinking I could easily remove the shirt and trousers under it. The trousers were half off when I realized I couldn’t properly maneuver myself to finish the job and the remaining part of the garment was a vice around my legs
All right, I’ll worry about that when I have the shirt off and the dress on. I began to wriggle my arms out of the shirt sleeves. It took a few minutes for me to accept that I was trapped halfway between school event clothes and church appropriate garb. With the shirt wrapped around my neck and one arm, I ventured to stick my head and the other arm out of the dress to make sure the coast was still clear. It was, but now my head and one arm were stuck in the neck hole of the dress.
It was ridiculous! I was a bright, intelligent woman who had simply wanted to change without getting wet. Unfortunately, I was also an elderly woman with limited movement capabilities. Maybe I wasn’t as intelligent as I thought!
By a series of short, jerking movements, I raised myself so I was kneeling backward on the seat with my head between the headrest and the door and one foot crammed in the console. My uncovered rear was now turned towards the windshield, and I was no closer to changed. I could imagine the call to security. “Some old woman is mooning everyone in the parking lot.” I wasn’t—I was still wearing underwear!
By now, you’re thinking this couldn’t get any worse and you would be wrong. I finally managed to get my posterior down out of the windshield, but in so doing, I sat on the car horn, thus trumpeting my situation for anyone who had missed the visual. This propelled me to move and in so doing, a portion of my dress caught on the car door handle, freeing me and shooting me half way out of the car—nearly upside down—in the rain—with my dress tangled somewhere around my waist and my trousers still impeding my legs.
I quickly righted myself and adjusted my clothing, but now I was far wetter than I would have been had I used the bathroom. I looked to neither the right nor the left as I left the parking lot. I suppose security can trace my car license plates if they want to, but I’ll tell you this: they are not going to be able to use facial recognition to identify me!
Karma, you are not a lady!
