If I could wish for a superpower it would be a seven second redo. When we got our first Tivo-like device, we found that we could skip ahead for 30s to get rid of commercials but if we went too far, there was a seven second back functionality. I wanted to be able to do that with the world. Take back the idiocy that just came from my mouth. Skip back and prevent accidents. Seven seconds seems like the right amount of time to foil small disasters but not enough put me on the hook for large ones.
However, I already have a superpower. I break things. Usually, I use my powers for good. Though, I have been known to profit as well.
In my engineering world, having everything around me break is a good way to create a system that is more robust for customers. In fact, in medical devices, I can be more confident that my products are functional because, if they were going to fail, they would have failed on my desk. I’m not usually that person who says “I can’t reproduce that error” because, if it is a crash or fatal issue, I can always reproduce it. Many of my oddest engineering skills have come from having to fix the things that break most often (solder and a glue gun are totally in my superbelt, I carry a toolbox when I have a cape and tights on (ahem, which is never)).
This isn’t just being inattentive to my surroundings (there is some of that); it is a true knack for destruction. I mean, I crash my Apple devices regularly (I’ve seen the Leopard screen of death several times, you?). I crashed the DC Metro’s ticket taking machine. Never go into the self-checkout line behind me.
Maybe I should have gone into testing but I love building things, creating new things. Plus, development usually pays better. I know the superhero lore: using my power for profit is certain to lead to sadness but I’m sure Clark Kent used his X-ray vision a time or two to get a story.
Unfortunately for me, my power is not limited to the flow of electricity. I also break physical things. While I like pretty and expensive vases, we don’t own any because the Tiffany one we got as a wedding present fell to the sink one day with a giant crack. Things in my hands tend to end up on the floor. Glasses with liquids get spilled even when I’m nowhere near them. Things on the floor end up stepped on or tripped over, repeatedly. I can trip over a crack in the sidewalk, it doesn’t have to be uneven. I did major damage to my hip falling out of my desk chair.
I’m not an idiot: I don’t go in china shops. And I would say our house is configured for safety and acceptable levels of casual destruction. I let C control the TV and most of the household electronics. The pathways I move along are free from clutter and likely damage. It is ok if I run into or trip over the cat tree. (I stopped giving the cat guilt-treats when I would walk on his tail and now he moves his tail when he sees me coming. I’m pretty sure he was moving in front of me when there were treats at stake.) The kitchen counter is mostly devoid of things, partially because we like the clean look, partially because it is easier to clean up, partially because it limits my range when my talent misfires.
It is with some trepidation that I visit my in-laws home. I have seen many magazines with showcase houses that are not nearly as lovely as this one. Each room is done up in a way where everything is perfect. I’ve been in much worse museums than this house. I feel huge and ungraceful.
My father-in-law was worried about me tripping down the stairs (a quite reasonable fear) but I was far more concerned about tripping down the stairs and bringing two stories worth of antiques with me. I will have care on the stairs.
Right now, I’m sitting on the floor of a sitting room (seriously, there is no other word, it is not a bedroom, bathroom, living room or kitchen; long ago, it might have been a nursery or governess’ room). I’m sitting on the floor because I don’t know which chairs or sofas are suitable for sitting. And if one of them is suitable, I don’t know which pillows should be moved from it. I can assume all of them but then where do they go? Not on the floor, I know that much.
Even down here, I’m a little stressed out. There are dolls and animals that I nearly set my backpack on and then almost kicked when I stretched out my leg. I am being careful. Really. And so far nothing has been touched but the rug. And I refuse to think about the rug and whether or not it should be sat upon or have my gear strewn about it. I’ll assume yes on that even though there are rugs in this house that I know I’m not to loiter on (though I don’t know which ones).
I should tell you more about the house and I probably will, possibly in detail. For now, I’ll summarize: it is an amazing, beautiful, detail-designed house. My mother-in-law has a fantastic sense of space and color. (Yes, I do know she’s been reading this blog, that isn’t just sucking up.)
But I fear for her lovely house; I fear my out-of-control superpower and the destruction I could cause tromping around here. All I can really say? Thank all mercies that French antiques don’t have electronics.
