Check the Blind Spot

A lot has happened to Jenny and I over the last several months. We’ve kept quiet about it, mostly because of how busy it was. Our days were longer than they were in the first half of our time together and involved a lot more commuting than it did way back when our biggest worry was who gets the last bite of ice cream. Usually I got it because I’m the bigger one and would surely crush Jenny for the rights to the final nibble.

eating lots
Fairly certain that couch no longer fits us.

One of the latest life experiences we’re going through is teaching Jenny to drive. I’m not exactly Mary Kay Letourneau when it comes to education. When Jenny’s nervous in the car, I’m even more flustered. We feed off each other’s anxiety like any good neurotic couple should.

This isn’t a post about Jenny’s driving adventures. I’ll let her write about that. There’s a more important blind spot other than the one in the rearview mirror. It’s the one on the far left side of our dresser.

stevie wonder
Stevie Wonder looked pumped because he can relate to this blog post. (Photo Courtesy of Brietbart…yuck)

At least once a week (she’d say less) Jenny can’t find something important. Whether it’s her phone, wallet, or husband, without fail that item tends to be in the blind spot.

Something about this Bermuda Triangle of our bedroom masks Jenny’s valuables from her vision. I remember shortly after she moved in we searched for far too long to find her phone. One of us located it in her blind spot, open in plain view. Even I had become a victim to this cloaked space. Or did I?

People may say because I wasn’t able to find this immediately that it’s also a blind spot for me. I would like to propose a more realistic theory: mass hysteria. Because Jenny was so insistent that the phone had walked away, my feeble mind went there too. The only blind spot I have is on a food label. Seriously, my FUPA is beginning to cast a shadow. If I don’t diet soon, pedestrians will use it to cover themselves from the rain.

michael oher blind spot
The blind spot situation got so serious, Jenny and I thought about adopting an inner city kid to help protect us. Surely, a spot is as easy to block as a side. (Photo Courtesy of Biographies.com)

We’ve learned our lesson about the blind spot: don’t put anything there we’ll want to use soon. My baseball cards (kept there to build up value over time) and pants that no longer fit me (kept there until my waist returns to normal size) currently occupy the space. Until the Buzzfeed Unsolved team cracks this one, Jenny and I will stay as far away from the blind spot as we can.

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