Assaulted By The Invisible Wall July 7, 2020
These invisible walls are unnerving. You’re cavorting along and suddenly, whack, an invisible wall smacks you on the snout. Take what happens every morning. My landlady gets up, goes into the bathroom and stands in her water dish. (Hey. It’s her water, her dish, she can do whatever she wants. Not judging.) She turns on the faucet and stands under the water. I don’t know if I should rescue her or participate but I rush to join her and whack, slammed on the snout by the invisible wall. I see her there in the water. I can’t get to her. I run out of the room to recover, race back, it happens again. Every damned morning. My landlady says, “It’s called ‘glass,’ sweetie. Don’t try to understand it. Just remember where it is and you won’t bump your nose.” I don’t care what they call it, I’ll bite the damned thing the next time it assaults me. My landlady says it’s OK that I’m not too bright because I’m so pretty. I don’t understand that either.