In a Perfect World

James and I are in the car on our way back from his dentist appointment that I proudly remembered and made, to the amazement of the staff and myself, to be honest. At 3:00 a.m. when I couldn’t sleep, I was sure I would not wake up in time for the 9:00 a.m. appointment.

I walked in and the receptionist was all smiles. I could see through the glass as she said something toward the exam area, such as, “She made it!”

Whether or not I am going to make it is always a mystery that unfolds in unfortunate and predictable ways. Usually, there’s the “where are you?” call, followed by the “Oh! Noooo!” response.

I walked in six minutes early today, beaming. I said, “Do I get a sticker?” I really wanted one. I wasn’t just kidding.

I’m trying to be better about remembering. I go to great lengths to remember and to put the staff at ease by calling when I’m leaving the house. “We’re on our way!”

I’ve told them that if I’m not ten minutes early, or I haven’t called to tell them I’m on the way to call me because I forgot. Don’t wait until ten minutes into the appointment to call.

Susan, my favorite hygienist, returned my son to the waiting room and gave me the report on his check-up. Then she handed me a sticker. A cartoon drawing of Fiona from Shrek.

“Perfect!” I said. “Fiona rocks!” We high-fived, hugged and James and I headed home.

At an intersection close to home I see a landscaper, finishing off the edges of a lawn with a gas powered weed whacker. I tell James, “I want to lean my head out the window and ask if I can borrow it. I imagine he’d take his baseball cap off, scratch the back of his head while he looks me over, and finally say, ‘Have it back by noon.’

“And I say, ‘I can do that. I only live two blocks that way.’ I let him know I am not just a lazy weed whacker moocher. I have a weed whacker at home. But I don’t have any more string. I have to run out and get some and I keep forgetting until I see a landscaper using one at intersections such as this one.

“He nods in understanding and hands over the weed whacker. I give him my very valuable Fiona sticker as collateral.

‘Now don’t lose it. And don’t stick it on anything. It’s very important to me.’ I tell him.

“And he says, to assure me that he will not break a trust, ‘What would I stick it to? It’s Fiona,’ implying that he would if it were Shrek. But not this chic.

“’Great,’ I say, sliding the weed whacker in the back of my minivan parked at the light that has remained red all this time. That’s how quickly the transaction happens.

“I drive home, whack the edges of my lawn in a perfect 90 degree angle from the sidewalk, a nice, long, even row, and return the weed whacker immediately. I can ask another random neighbor out using his leaf blower if I can borrow that, later. Tell him my broom handle broke.”

My son just gives me a funny look while I’m telling him my perfect world fantasy where it’s normal to ask random strangers if I can borrow their tools and promise to return them and they let me. How I would love that because it would make life so simple.

I said, “What? When is that line drawn in our society? It’s okay in college to say, ‘Dude, can I borrow your highlighter? I can’t find mine.’ And he says, ‘Sure, man. Can I have some lined paper? I forgot my notebook.’ And you’re like, ‘Sure. Here.’ And you hand him twice what he he asked for. But it’s not okay to say, ‘Hey, random guy on the street, can I borrow your weed whacker? I’ll be right back with it. I just live over there.’”

James laughs at my schtick and adheres my hard earned Fiona sticker to my dash, not centered and angled slightly. That’s going to drive me nuts.

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