Good Intentions

There have been a number of times in my life where I endeavored with the best of Good Intentions to pursue the goal of Do What’s Right. I like to think that I have, over the course of many years of hard study, learned to pursue this sometimes easy to see, yet strangely elusive goal, with a modicum of wisdom.

Cast you now your thoughts back to a rose-tinted vision of some years past, in the cold of winter, shortly after a good half inch of ice has coated the primordial scrub, rendering it into a beautiful, scintillating dream of crystal spires, glistening sculptures, and slippery walkways. The air was cold and tasted new. As new as my living arrangements with S.O.

With DUTY in mind and Do What’s Right in my soul, I did rise early that visionary morning and proceed, with ice scraper, heavy coat, knit cap, and gloves, to remove all traces of any visual occlusionary impediments to S.O. safely driving the motorized vehicle designated for such exclusive use. As Fortune would have it, S.O. exited our rental pile of rocks in time to witness Yours Truly just finishing with the rear windshield. Ah, the sight of S.O., standing bundled up in the doorway, face flushed with love and cold, smile outshining the sun, carefully waving a Thank You to me, still warms my heart. I smiled with pride in my accomplishment and waved back.

All would have been well, except for one small thing.

If you will observe above the list of equipment and accouterments that I used in this worthy endeavor, and notice the accidental omission of one critical piece that is fundamentally germane to both the environment (icy) and task (removing said ice from a car). Yes, I had not worn boots. In and of themselves, boots may not have prevented the sequence of events that subsequently transpired, but they certainly would have reduced the likelihood.

As I stood there, gallantly returning S.O.’s loving hand undulation, my feet shot out from under me and I hovered for a few brief seconds in midair, supported only by inertia long enough to briefly consider how I had erred, and doomed to shortly fall to gravity. Which I did.

Still, all would have been well, except for another small thing.

That small thing would be physics. Specifically, the trajectory arc described by my skull, modified by the graceful, dexterous twisting of my body into a controlled fall (i.e. I flailed about uselessly) that would normally result in a bruise to my fifth point of contact (a.k.a: buttocks), but an otherwise safe unexpected descent to the ice-covered asphalt parking lot. Said arc was, unfortunately, tangential to the rear bumper of the aforementioned car, and was severely interrupted by contact with same.

The concussion lasted for several days.

The dent is still in the bumper.

Yes. My skull is tougher than the car. In every sense of the word.

Let this be a lesson to you: Doing What’s Right, without adequate preparation, is foolish.

Being foolish hurts.

A lot.

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