by Glenn Thaxton, Bullhorn for the Idle
Vision loss is an effective defense mechanism until it’s suddenly challenged by an aggressive mirror. Then the moment when age seemed irrelevant vanishes in the rearview mirror as fast as an armadillo passed at ninety miles an hour.
It’s most alarming when it happens like it did early this morning.
My wife recently acquired a Simple Human mirror. There is nothing simple about it. Nor is it humane.
It crouched in her dressing area waiting for me. Then, as I zombie-walked past, it turned on, startling me. It magnified me and anything else in its field of view, demanding my innocent attention.
When I investigated its reflection in my half-asleep state, I was abruptly facing every wrinkle, grey hair, and age spot. All which, in the normal case, respectfully hide from my field of view. It was the antithesis of Dorian Gray’s painting. As I looked, I saw myself getting older with each glance.
Over the years, I have honed my visual defense mechanism (VDM) to perfection. It hides what interrupts my attention and allows me to stay laser focused on what’s important, maximizing my acute survival skills (ASS).
My acute survival skills are so well developed they have become an integral part of my personality. Yet, this appliance broke through with careless disregard for all my work in this area.
The people that say “The truth will set you free” don’t have a mirror like this one. There are some truths that can’t be faced without emotional consequences. With this mirror, you need a psychiatrist and plastic surgeon on tap.
When tools, or appliances, invade my emotional boundaries they’ve gone too far, except for WD-40.
WD-40 has earned the right to express an opinion. If a can of WD-40 begins to share thoughts with me, I’ll listen.
After this alarming encounter, my wife’s mirror will have to work on regaining my trust and help me recover the feeling that age is irrelevant. Otherwise, it is dangerously close to going on the same list as my wife’s ambitious toothbrush, now found somewhere in the city dump.
*Caution: Do not be tempted to infer symbolism in any of the following writing. To do so may render it indelicate. Any sensibilities that are harmed from this inference are the responsibility of the reader.
WD-40, “Water Displacement perfected on 40th try”, was first used as an outer layer on the Atlas missile. Its lubricating properties allowed the missile to slide into space and unleash its load with almost poetic expression, seeding space with everything that makes our modern world possible.
Is there any reason why I wouldn’t love this magic fluid?
WD-40 entered my awareness in the 1960’s. It is my longest running non-familial relationship. It meets its responsibilities to me without complaint and is always available when I need it. An example is due.
My kitchen faucet functioned flawlessly for years. Then, at the most inopportune time, it began to complain. Its whining began as a small dribble. I didn’t listen, and the consequences finally came to a peak yesterday. The small leak raged into flying water everywhere. It presented me with a direct and immediate challenge.
Accepting the challenge, I began the perilous journey. The kitchen and my pride were at stake. A fully-functional sink and a reasonable dinner would be my bounty.
About thirty minutes into the journey, I found myself locked in a plumbing yoga position under the kitchen sink, a modified ‘upward facing dog’, looking up at a locked nut on the bottom of a faucet. It was in a location that defied my ability to contort.
Age or my size may have been a contributing factor, but I wasn’t going to admit it, nor let a nut stand between me and success.
I’ve learned that in life you make choices; not all are easy. Replacing that faucet was my hero’s journey and hiring a plumber was never an option. I would do it but, at that moment, one large nut stood in my way. With all the nuts I encounter in a normal day, some which I ignore, this one threatened to halt my journey.
When I needed it, WD-40 stepped in and provided me the incentive to continue. One application of WD-40 on the fitting and the nut gave up her spot on the screw. Progress would go further, unabated by the nut.
I faced one more challenge, one where reasoning yielded no respectable answer.
Three copper fittings resisted being pulled through the hole once used by the dead faucet. Success rested on my ability to rescue the body of the dead faucet with the copper beneath it. WD-40 could not help, but the momentum left in the wake of our prior success helped me power through the challenge. My tired muscles and contorted torso managed a few twists braking the copper pipe and allowing me to pull the dead faucet from the sink and, finally, lay it to rest.
A small ceremony would follow.
Thirty more minutes of plumbing yoga and, with the help of WD-40, I had a new kitchen faucet, a few sore muscles, and a story to share.
I learned several things while on this journey to a new faucet:
- WD-40 can be counted on in moments of great challenge,
- lack of exercise leads to sore muscles when used,
- teamwork overpowers obstinate nuts, and
- sometimes force must be used when reasoning fails.
After dealing with an aggressive mirror and putting to rest an injured and now dead faucet, I took my standard three o’clock break and waited for my next confrontation with destiny.
I was about five Stacy’s chips into my Weight Watcher allowed ten when I felt a squirrel let loose in my pocket. I knew the sensation well. It was the front door security camera notifying me, via phone vibration, that an intruder was on the front porch.
‘No rest for the weary,’ I thought as I walked to the front door. Would it be an Amazon package, or my next challenge.
One thing was sure, life was back to normal.