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It's in the Details

October 3, 2014

What kind of car was that?  Um… was it white?  

 

​Sometimes… well, most of the time, I don’t notice details.  More accurately, I notice different details than most.  I see nuances of color and shadow​, shape and space, reflections and patterns.  I instantly detect a marginally crooked picture frame or a speck of dust left on the corner of a coffee table.   When you look at the details, you see that I do notice the details.  Just not… well, the obvious ones.

 

Oh, I could give you examples all day.  

 

Like the time my husband dropped me off in front of the grocery store.  I ran in to grab a couple of quick items while he waited in his white Jeep Cherokee.  A few minutes later, grocery bag in hand, I jumped into the white vehicle in front.  I know you can see this coming.  

 

Without bothering to look up, I gibbered nonstop about why it took so long, what was on sale and the people I’d seen.  Then it occurred to me that he wasn’t moving.  Or responding.  How rude!  I turned toward him and there sat a well-known sportscaster.   It took me a moment, because he was so familiar.  I saw him almost every evening on TV.  

 

My confusion soon turned to horror as I realized my mistake.  In one breath, I prattled on about how I had a Durango just like his, except mine was red and my husband had dropped me off in this exact same spot and he drove a white car, just like he did.  He gave me a withering stare.  No doubt he thought I was a groupie or a stalker vying for his attention.  

 

I searched the parking lot and spotted my husband nearby.  “Okay, well… I’ll catch you later.  Bye,” I
babbled as I let myself out.  He glowered as I slammed his door and ran to the white car with the correct driver.  For some reason I never wanted to watch the guy on TV after that.  

 

Another example was that time in the movie theatre.  

 

The show was riveting, but I had to use the restroom and couldn’t wait any longer.  “I’ll be right back,” I whispered.  You might think you know what’s coming, but I doubt you’ll foresee the whole story this time.  It went down like this:

 

I hurry as fast as humanly possible, and slip back into the theatre next to my husband.  I must have missed a lot more than I thought, but I know I’ll catch up soon enough.  I put my arm around the back of Dee’s chair and run my fingers through his hair, under his ball cap.  He loves it when I do that.  Feeling very affectionate, I rub my other hand on his arm and then move it slowly down onto his knee.  It’s about that time I hear my name coming from the isle.  Who would be disrupting a movie like this?  So weird!  I turn to see someone who looks exactly like Dee.  “What are you doing?” he asks.  He seems annoyed.

 

Huh?  I look from him to the husband I have been fondling next to me.  Only, it isn’t my husband.  The man next to me is about Dee’s age, has curly hair and wears a baseball cap.  He is sitting in the right place in the theatre, but, oops! It’s the wrong theatre.  I notice for the first time what looks to be the guy’s son sitting next to him on the other side.  I catch my breath and slip out into the isle.  Dee and I stumble out and collapse onto the lobby floor in hysterics.  

 

Fortunately, I don’t have to do a lot of explaining, as my track record supports my alibi.  Unfortunately, the man who was my unintended victim probably had to re-explain the concept of stranger-danger to his son.  Hopefully, he did it with a
straight face.  He seemed pretty happy about the misconduct.

 

I can’t count the times I have grabbed the hand of a person I assumed was my husband.  Maybe it’s because Dee is just one of those people who look like someone you know. Or maybe it’s because he wears a hat and drives a white car.

 

Obviously it's in the details.  Right?

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