I hit on the fact that I dropped my camera at Oktoberfest in St. Louis a few weeks ago, and I killed it. It probably had nothing to do with liter-sized mugs of beer. If I could remember what I was doing in the photo below, I could probably remember how I came to drop my camera.
Thus, when MyFamousFriendMarkRoberts came into town last week, I had $1 to win, so I went out and spent a couple hundred on a new camera, to digitally capture this moment:
This blog really has to do with that new camera.
Clint and I went out and bought the new camera 1 hour before Roberts' show. As I am but 4 years old, I opened the box the minute we got back in the car. It's the same instinct that makes me want to wear new shoes out of the store. Shut it. I want what I want when I want it, and I wanted to see the new camera.
When we arrived back to the house, we discovered that the memory card and adapter (that was SOLD TO US SEPARATELY) did NOT fit this camera. 90 minutes before the show: no shower, no makeup, and a new camera with no memory! Gah!
HERE is the kicker:
While tearing the box apart in the car, I had pulled out a tiny, bright yellow adapter for the memory card for this camera. It was in a teeny, tiny envelope, and it made a bit of an impact on me. Yellow. It was YELLOW!
- When we got into the house, no yellow adapter.
- Nothing on the box about including an adapter.
- Clint hadn't seen the adapter.
- We called Best Buy, and they told us that an adapter was NOT included with this camera.
I swear to God, I said these words to Clint: "I must have imagined it."
There must not have been an adapter.
In the meantime, we managed to get the card we needed (at WallyWorld, of all places), and make it to the show with plenty of time to spare.
FastForward to 2 days ago, Clint came waltzing into the house after his shift, and said "Guess what I found!"
He, of course, handed over the tiny envelope with the tiny yellow memory adapter that I'd dropped in the car a week ago.
So I hadn't made it up.
The thing is, what in the hell is wrong with me that I was willing to believe that I hadn't held an object in my hand, when I knew I had? Why on earth would I believe that I'd imagined this bright yellow object in a special tiny envelope:
I made that up? Of course I didn't! Am I losing my freaking mind? Do I even have a spine?!
So now I sit around and analyze my common sense and self-confidence, and wonder if I'm so brain-washable that I might someday confess to crimes that I did not commit.
Can you see it?
They'd insist, "No, Lori! The knife was in your hand!" And I'd be running around trying to iron my blouse and waiting for my eyeliner to dry before I put my eyeshadow on, and I'd respond, "it was? Oh, crap, it was! I did it, oh God, what was I thinking, how could I? I hate blood!"
What am I, stressed? Grieving? Exhausted? An idiot?
Show me a little love, people.
Share with me a moment that you've been convinced you saw or acted when you did not.
It can't just be me.