A couple of years ago, I wrote a post about five of the totally normal, everyday things that I am completely unable to do.
(I also apparently saw fit to illustrate that post with a blurry mirror selfie of myself. Oh blogging, how you’ve changed!)
Anyway, today I bring you an update on that post, in the form of five MORE things you can probably do that I can’t. Because there’s absolutely no limit to my ineptitude, apparently. Before we get into that, though, I bring you a slightly more positive update (which you’ll have to read that older post in order to understand. Go and do it now. It’s OK, we’ll all just wait here for you…): guys, I CAN CLEAN GLASS NOW! Well, sort off. See, not long after I wrote that post, I discovered e-cloths, and they literally (but not literally) saved my life. (Actually, Sarah told me about them: who says blogging can’t change the world?)
I wouldn’t say my glass-cleaning is perfect these days, but it’s definitely a whole lot better than it was: like, if I try to clean a mirror, say, it’ll only end up slightly dirtier than it was before, as opposed to being so much dirtier that I’m tempted to just throw it away now, which is what used to happen. Progress, people! And if I keep on making progress at this rate, I’d estimate that I’ll reach full adulthood at the age of around 90-ish. So that’s something to look forward to, no?
OK, positive update over: the bad news is that I still can’t drive on the motorway without having a panic attack, change the duvet cover, or mix drinks. And now there are even MORE things I can’t do, too. Things like…
Like, if you were to say to me, “Oh, it’s about 500 metres away,” say, that would mean absolutely nothing to me. I know what a metre is, obviously: I just can’t for the life of me visualise what 500 of them would look like, all laid out together. I’m better with miles, because I guess they have more context to me – as in, I can think to myself, “OK, that’s like the distance from here to the main street/London/America/whatever,” but any other unit of measurement is totally lost to me. Confusingly, where I live, people will often use units I have no knowledge of whatsoever: so, I grew up with the metric system, for instance, but people always seem to be giving me distances in yards, and I’m just like, “WHAT IS THAT I CAN’T EVEN.” (See also: people who give prices in “old money”and are all, “Yeah, it cost me five bob!” THE HELL?! What is a “bob”? Why are you talking like that? Have we gone back in time? Whhhhyyy?)
Guess people’s ages
Honestly, guessing people’s ages is a truly horrible thing to do, and if I was Queen, I would totally make it illegal, not even joking. Terry has a really annoying habit whereby, any time we find ourselves interacting with young children, he’ll be all, “What age do you think Auntie Amber is?!” (Even if I am not the child’s auntie, interestingly…), and no amount of me kicking him in the shin, fixing him with a death glare, and hissing, “I WILL KIIIIIILLLLLL YOOOOOOUUUUUUU!” has made him stop this. And, obviously, little kids are absolutely useless at guessing ages, so they’ll cheerfully estimate mine as being anything from 5 to 500 (I’m going to just go ahead and assume that this is, indeed, because little kids are useless at this, and NOT because I actually look like I could be 500 years old…), which is hilarious, but also occasionally awkward.
The fact is, though, I can’t really criticise them for it, because I’m not much better, and if anyone ever asks me what age I think they are (Which happens bizarrely often, actually. WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS TO ME? It’s such a weird thing to ask someone! Seriously, isn’t that a weird thing to ask someone? Like, don’t you already KNOW what age you are?), I will have absolutely NO IDEA at all. Seriously, most people could be either 20 or 60 as far as I’m concerned, and neither would particularly surprise me.
I’m taking about walls here, by the the way, not, like, watercolours and landscapes or whatever, although it has to be said, I can’t do that either. Seriously, though, who can’t paint a wall? Er, this girl, that’s who. I learned this fact during our recent kitchen/downstairs remodel, during which I painted the entire house white, and then Terry had to do it all again. One day, just after I’d done the hall, my parents came round for a look at the kitchen, and when my mum stepped into the hallway, she said, “Oh my, you’ve really done… a job!” Says it all, really, doesn’t it?
I’d like to think I COULD probably follow instructions if I really tried… so maybe it’s just trying to follow instructions I’m bad at? All I know is that, if something comes with instructions, I will normally take them out of the box, glance at them, think, “Nah, not even going there!” and then try to work out how to use the thing myself, rather than just taking the few minutes it would require to quickly read through the instructions. I have no idea why I do this.
File/paint my nails
Last week I was lucky enough to receive this gorgeous selection of Rimmel’s Super Gel Nail Polish* – samples which, unfortunately somewhat wasted on me (I kept the red colour and passed the rest on to my niece!) because I totally lack the Nail Polish Application gene that so many women are born with. More than that, I can’t even shape my nails properly, let alone paint them: I like to keep them short (I love the look of long nails, but can’t stand the feel of them!), which you’d think would make it relatively easy to keep them nice and neat, but nope, can’t do it – mine always look like I’ve taken a hacksaw to them or something. Why can’t I perform this simple task that millions of people (probably) do every day? I have no idea – as my strangely misshapen nails prove.
Anyone want to make me feel better by revealing some of the things you can’t do?