Sometimes I think about the specific groups of people in the world and think about how impossible it is to try to crash across the boundaries.
You either belong there or you don’t.
For example, there are horse people. For fun, they go on trail rides and camp in the woods. Well, I like horses. But I don’t like to ride for hours. My butt gets numb. I am scared of the dark so I can only camp until dusk.
There are boat people. They can pull a boat behind a vehicle and never take out two lanes of traffic. They were born with the ability to back their vehicles down to the water without submerging them with the boat. I love boats too. But I can’t drive one. I can’t fix one. And if the boat rocks too much, it makes me crazy sick. You never see a true boater projectile vomit. True boaters don’t get seasick.
Another group can often be identified by their sunburned noses and racing hats … these are the NASCAR people. They can rattle off the names of drivers as well as what years their favorites won races or spun out at which tracks.
I don’t care about cars zooming around a track. I can take about 11 minutes of watching it on TV before I look for something that matters to me … something like “Project Runway.”
We can’t forget that select group of gardening people. They love dirt. They know the names of beautiful plants. They love stuff like pruning and fertilizing. I can’t be in their group, either. Somehow, I manage to kill anything green.
There are cooks and chefs with some kind of super power that allows them to memorize recipes and whip up gourmet meals from stuff I can’t even identify. The smoke alarm goes off way too frequently in my kitchen. No way these people will allow me to join their club.
There are cold-weather lovers. They like the fresh air at high altitudes. They love winter gear and cool wool hats and monster gloves that go to the elbow. I can’t be in that group because I am a waah- waah baby about being even slightly chilled. I absolutely detest cold weather.
And yet, here I am, back in Indiana.
Every morning, while slathering on the chapstick, I say to the mirror, “What am I doing?” (I say other stuff too, but I can’t print it)
After it snowed a few days ago, I suddenly realized that I did not have anything related to snow removal. Why? Because one, I was in denial about the cold, and two, I am an imposer, living among people who are at least partially partial to cold weather.
I ended up wiping snow off the windows with an old beach towel, and bawling while I did it.
A former Southsider and an award-winning journalist and humor writer, Sherri Coner resides in southwest Florida. To learn about her books for women and to join her on Facebook, visit www.sherriconer.com. She also speaks to women’s groups.