I'm reasonably bright, you know. I spell things right, for the most part, although throw me a "restaurant" or "occasionally" in a weak moment if you want to see me crumble. But your basic trivia, and such, I know. I do have a disability, which some people might call "womanhood" but I think is just a lopsided brain. The English and spelling and reading parts of my brain are SO expanded that they just crunched down all the logic part, like will my van fit in this space, which way is left and what hand IS the big hand, anyway? Think about that one for a moment. A clock has a LONG hand and a FAT hand. Couldn't either one logically be referred to as a BIG hand? I rest my case.
Anyway, on occasion (nailed it) I make very stupid decisions. Like last night, when it occurred to me that I should bake not one, but two apple pies at 6 pm, when my kids hadn't been fed and we had a home group scheduled at 7:30. By 6:30, there was pee and flames and blood and screams of agony amongst mounds of apple peels and flour. Bad idea. The pies were good, though.
And then today. Good idea: clean out the refrigerator. Bad idea: put leftovers down the disposal. I can't even claim some kind of innocence here. This has, in the words of Tiger Woods, "happened to me" many times before. I tell myself,"This machine, with its sharp blades and motors and promising logos, should be able to crush this old ravioli, so I don't have to take out the trash and start a new bag for leftovers trash." I pour it down, flip the switch, activating the light and the motor, and then go merrily about my business. Moments later, wailing begins in the basement.
Multiple times. I would be more remorseful, but I'm still griping in my head because the disposal should be able to dispose of soft foods. It just makes sense to me.
Of course, I failed my driving test 3 times over parallel parking. Sense.