Spoiler Alert

5 - Two Kinds of Brains

I know why he's skeptical. He's analytical. This is the superpower of the man-half.

I'm not trying to be sexist, I swear. But here's how I see it: 

When a woman experiences something (input), it first goes through a tufty, carpeted and well-lit land called emotion first. 

When a man experiences something (input), it first goes through the sharp-edged, geometric, ultra-modern world called analysis. 

The woman's brain is Pottery Barn, the man's brain is Ikea.

The thing is, these are only the first stops their new input makes. After the woman has figured out how she feels about something, she then analyzes it to death. "Do you think this rug goes well with the couch? I'm not sure! I think I'll take it back. No, I'll keep it. Oh, I wonder what my mother thinks!"

After a man has analyzed something, he then decides how he's supposed to feel about it. Once he's decided, it's done. No turning back. You can't move that giant FlürKer cabinet you bought at Ikea or it will crumble into a million strange pieces that you can't put back together without the instruction sheet. 

That's like trying to change a man's feelings. 

This is why it takes this new guy a couple minutes to work up into a lather because, say, a girl dressed like a rockstar is possibly trying to scam him.

As we walk out of the store--me holding onto the arm of the woman--I can sense the stiffness in his posture. He has put that  FlürKer together and decided it looks terrible with his English-style living room. 

In case I mixed up my metaphors too much, I'll translate:

The dude don't trust me.

I mean, he took one look at my shoutfit (my term for an outfit that just shouts for attention) and thought to himself: "How could she be partially blind and put together such an eclectic pair of vintage boots with a classic Mexican off-the shoulder Folklorico dress to such great and fabulous effect?

Okay, he may not be thinking that. But he should be thinking that. I look amazeballs.

I got to admit that dressing well is not part of my strategy. In fact, it's a liability. You can't look pathetic when you also look great. These things cancel each other out. But after all the sacrifices I have made after my mom died, this is one I refuse to budge on.

Did I mention that clothes are not just my thing, they are my thang? Whenever my life just stinks, I can don a vintage 80's bomber jacket or a 90's velvet-era bodysuit and I feel like a house on fire.

And this couple is my ticket to another hit off the knit. It's been ages since I've shopped for something fun.

"It's a blue Saturn," I said, searching the parking lot. "I can't even remember where I parked it, the pain meds are making me so foggy."

"Should you drive while blind and on pain meds?" said the man.

"Probably not," I said.

"Look," he said. "Can you call someone to pick you up, or . . . ?"

"What do you do for a living?" I asked abruptly.

The man was caught off guard. That's good too. If I can confuse and overload his analytics, get him to wonder what I'm up to, I will win this round. 

"I'm a software engineer," he answered.

Bo-ring!

"That's what I want to be too!" I shout. "Does your company need any help at all? Like even in the mailroom or washing toilets. Anything. I have a brother to support and my mom is dead."

Saying the word "dead" jolts the couple awake. No one ever says that word.

"I have a card in my car, you can call the office when your eyes heal up," he said, suddenly acting very helpful.

"We can give you a ride home, too," said the woman. "You can send someone back for your car. Do you live far?"

"That would be great. No, not far at all. God, I feel like an idiot. Thank you SO MUCH!" 

I smiled as we staggered to their car. 

I stopped smiling when I saw their  gold Lincoln Navigator SUV. Not because it will be their ultimate grim reaper, but because there is a dog inside, waiting for them.

Pets of all kind are trouble.

They see right through me.  

They know I'm a spoiler.