Princess does many stupid things. In fact, she has created an entire pink and fluffy blog world to record these stupid things because it’s in her nature to confess everything. Certainly, she should never be asked to lie under oath because she would tell the truth faster than you can say, “This Tory Burch bag is a $20 fake from Chinatown!” To continue on in her tradition of overzealous honesty, Princess has a confession. She has severely limited capabilities in three areas: telling time, discerning her left from her right, and maintaining general coordination.
If time is money, then it’s Swedish money that Princess has no idea how to count. Princess is a digital girl in a digital world, and yet her very beautiful watch is analog. She dreads one question the more than her husband getting a buzz cut, and that question is, “What time is it?” Imagine her horror two days ago when the cashier at Swanky’s asked her this very thing. Staring at her watch for a full thirty seconds, Princess finally proclaimed “5:45!” just as the cashier said, “Oh, it’s 6:45!” Red-faced, Princess shuffled away mumbling foolishness how Daylight Savings Time is antiquated and devilish. Clearly, the minute hand and hour hand are Princess’ evil nemeses.
If time is the enemy, telling the difference between left and right is like reading Princess’ dream journal, i.e. the sheet of paper that Princess once placed beside her bed to record late night brilliance. Some people hear “left” and think, “Oh yes, I will turn this way,” while Princess hears “purple snarfy waffles.” Just today, when Princess donated blood, the nurse asked for her left arm, and Princess stood quite still until the request was fully processed by her brain forty five seconds later. It was uncomfortable. Before her own bridesmaids’ luncheon, Princess accidentally drove her out-of-town bridesmaids to Arkansas when she most certainly meant to remain in Tennessee. She now drives with her hands in the shape of “L”s as a precaution. Lefts and rights, you are so very wrong.
For a girl with 14 years of classical ballet training under her belt who was often praised for her balance and control, Princess has endured several bouts of severe miscoordination. One week every few months, Princess totally loses her marbles. Just this week, she sliced off a knuckle while attempting to peel a butternut squash, rolled over her own foot with her rolling chair, and accidentally kneeboarded down half of her wooden stairs to an audience of ten. She is currently (and stylishly) wearing five different Band-Aids. Similarly, when Princess’ husband came to see sixteen-year-old Princess play basketball, she face-planted three times. He regularly reminds her. Coordination is a slippery, evasive fellow that cannot be trusted.
If Princess’ brain is Swiss cheese, the areas of time, direction, and coordination have fallen into the dark black holes of stupidity. If the reader were to place that Swiss cheese between slices of rye bread, add tomato, and ask Princess to eat it at 12:30 p.m. using her left hand, she would slap that person with the sandwich. Fortunately for the reader, she would likely miss. Unfortunately for Princess, she would then give in to the overwhelming temptation to tell everyone about the stupid sandwich-slapping thing she did. In conclusion, yikes.