I’ve done dumb things in the past and likely will in the future. I don’t let that tendency bother me because I’m a writer. Whereas most people want their dumb doings to stay hidden, writers use them for material. Case in point:
I lived on the second floor of a duplex once. The only redeeming quality of the place was the wildlife in the back yard. This was in the suburb of Pittsburgh known as Dormont, where the squirrels are well accustomed to humans. Especially the ones who feed them.
I was coming down the back stairs heading for the laundry room, and glanced out the big window in the back door. In the fork of the tree across the driveway, a squirrel was waiting. Looking right at me. Intently. He wanted peanuts. This was one of the neighborhood regulars, one of the squirrels that came right up to me and took peanuts from my hand. They knew me. I was Mr. Peanut without the top hat and monocle.
I wanted to let the little guy know I had seen him, so, absurdly, I signalled “wait a minute.” You know, raise your index finger as a kind of sign language? Like the squirrel is going to understand, check his little watch and tap his little foot and say. “Okay, but make it snappy, I’m late for my next tree.”
Dumb move, yes. But in my defense, when I came back upstairs, not only was the squirrel still waiting for me, but he had moved to the back porch. To be closer to the source, I suppose.
My gesture might have been dumb, but the squirrel wasn’t. So go ahead and make good use of your goofs.
