Why I should never be charged with saving the world

My husband and I went to go see Terminator Genisys last weekend. For those of you who haven’t seen it yet (or don’t want to), here’s the non-spoiler recap: John Connor sends his right-hand man, Kyle Reese back in time to save his mom, Sarah Connor. Oh, and Arnold Schwarzenegger is back… in the “I’ll be back” kind of way…. but older.

The end.

Now you can impress your husband by understanding the plot line without seeing the movie. Or maybe you can convince someone you saw the movie – without giving away the details for non-movie-watching conversation participants, of course.

I digress.

During the climax, Kyle and Sarah are running around Skynet trying to save the world, and I have a sudden and strong realization: I should never be charged with saving the world.

The reason may surprise you.

  1. I could probably handle a gun, knife or some kind of clever weapon from the future. After all, I tend to be pretty tech-savvy (I’m usually the one setting up our surround sound at home, or fixing computers when they break).
  2. I took self-defense in college, which totally counts toward badass status.
  3. I can pull off a black tank top and black cargo pants. The color definitely makes me look a little more like “sun-kissed” tanned than “ghost-white.” And let’s be honest – in Texas summers, we live in tank tops. So the natural, “girls saves the world” uniform, is covered.
  4. I can totally get down to “Save the World” by Swedish House Mafia. And I can imagine myself doing so while dancing under the strobe lights. I realize it’s less relevant, but it totally counts.
  5. I’d love to think I can handle a major crisis while calm and efficient – both very important in this sort of thing.

The thing is – I am directionally challenged.

It’s true. If I can’t Waze it, don’t count on me coming.

I travel some for work. When I do, I always make sure I have enough of a phone charge to make sure I can get wherever I’m going and back. I also take a photo of my car in a parking garage and the sign that says exactly where my car is.

When I’m trying to get somewhere within a building, I wonder aimlessly until someone takes pity on me and gives me directions. I get anxiety about it – my pulse picks up and I grit my teeth.

But, I realize you may not believe me, so there’s this:

Hubs even has a name for me: Wrong way birdie. I pretend he’s being endearing, but it’s true.

The day after the movie, hubs, the kids and I venture out to get the kids’ haircuts. Ironically, one of our favorite sushi restaurants is opening a new location in the very same complex.

I think it’s a sign. We should eat more sushi.

So in my excitement and with a few minutes to burn, we decided to drive by for a sneak peek. I turned onto the street in front of the restaurant and ogled the construction as we went by.

Then my husband said it: “Um… you’re going down a one way street – the wrong way.”

Damn.

I pull up to the stop sign to turn (the right way), but there’s a cop… and he’s spotted me.

Five minutes later after some razzing from both the cop and my husband, I’m allowed to leave – this time, without a ticket.

So that’s it.

If the zombie apocalypse is going to happen, don’t call me. Because I won’t make it, and I won’t save the world.

For your listening pleasure:

#sorrynotsorry

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