Ladyfingers: Help!

I have never been one to read self-help books. In my 26 years of living, I’ve bought two; one was for school and the other was a flat surface I used to construct marijuana cigarettes on. Nothing against these types of books, of course. I just have yet to find How-To: Life for the Awkward Gal Who Overanalyzes Everything. Until I do, I’ll leave what I can here and you’re welcome to use the help at your leisure. If the aforementioned book never makes it onto the shelves of Barnes and Noble, just remember I said it first. These are the life lessons I made-up out of things that have happened to me. Enjoy.

I was 5 years old the first time I experienced death. It was a day like any other day with a strict schedule of Jazzercise in the morning with my mother and some light doodling in the afternoon. I sat in my booster seat that was comfortably and securely fastened to the front seat of my family’s Toyota Previa. Sure, the Previa may have had the highest safety rating for a minivan at that time, but it certainly didn’t shield me from the real life shit I was about to experience that morning…

Please begin Track 1 of the audio book, or just YouTube “Uplifting Music Full Mix Vol. 4” and imagine the following is being narrated by a small child that is approximately 5-years-old.  

Back door, check. Front door, check. Now it was my time to shine and this little light of mine was in the form of a garage door transponder. She knew the drill; if I wasn’t acting like the spawn of satan that hour, my mother allowed me to operate the clicker. In one fell swoop I slam my tiny sausage fingers onto the giant button that I can only assume is there to wake up the black magic wizard that opens and closes the door. The garage begins to rumble: a sound that means it is time to sit back in my big girl car throne for I am the newly, self-appointed, all-powerful Queen of all things carport related. I watch with pride as the door slowly lowers down, acknowledging that this was my short life’s greatest accomplishment since the last time I pressed the button. The time had come for me to enjoy the fruits of my labor. End of Track 1/pause the video.

I was about to take the first bite out of my freshly picked labor-fruit when my cat, appropriately named Kitty, attempted to escape the garage and failed. Let me clarify, just in case: my cat was dead (and by “just in case”, I mean I want you to have a slight visual of an image that will be forever burned into my memory). Not Bambi’s-mom-dead, where it’s implied so it’s not necessary to show it, no. (I’ve never actually seen Bambi). My cat was super dead and I had the front row seat. It took all of .5 seconds for me to begin screaming bloody murder, which was fitting considering that I had just manslaughtered my cat. It was way beyond the point of pulling the ol’ “Kitty just went on a long trip to China” line, so my father tried to calm me down by telling me Kitty was in heaven now.  “No, she’s not! She’s staring at me on the floor right now,” I shrieked in between the sobs and through the snot running down my face. This would be the moment that I found out you actually don’t float through the ceiling when you die.

I’m not even sure what the life lesson I’m trying to get across is anymore. I think I just needed to talk about it, you know? It has been over 20 years since the incident and it just hit me that I have no closure. So, I’d like to take this opportunity to say some final words to my fallen BFFL.

Dear Kitty,

I don’t know what you were thinking trying to escape from the garage at the last minute. I don’t want to point out the obvious, but that was a bad move. Either way, I want you to know that I appreciated our time together. I wish I could reference particular times, but it was over 20 years ago and the only thing I can remember about you at this time is the whole garage incident. You know if you think about it, had this happened 10 years later you probably wouldn’t have died given the advancements in technology. Anyways, I hope you’re doing well wherever you are. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a more creative name.

Love,

Sabrina

I think we all learned a valuable lesson here. I said it last time and I’ll say it again: Dance like nobody’s watching (but acknowledge that people are watching, so try your best not to die in front of them because they’ll write about it 21 years later).