My Fatheadedness and Swollen, Bloody Noses

I am a fathead. Although I am a fathead, I am the only person who is aloud to call me a fathead. If anybody else did, you would get a punch in the nose, though you would be speaking the truth. You held firmly to the truth, and for your pains you would have a swollen, bloody nose. You might have guessed I don't enjoy people telling me the truth about me. I much prefer being told sweetly flattering lies, and living my life in blissful ignorance.

And now I am woefully off course. To yank myself back to the pleasant topic of my fatheadedness, I shall relate to you a true story, about a spacey, forgetful girl (me), who's only wish in life was to arrive on time for her piano lesson but who instead go horribly muddled.

Every Wednesday I have a piano lesson at 2:30, and I am usually driven by one of my devoted, doting, darling parents. Today, however, was DIFFERENT. Today, I took the bus or rather, I tried to take the bus. I set out from my house in good time to catch the train from Dalhousie Station, getting off at Brentwood where I was supposed to catch the 20 Heritage bus.

As I stepped off the train, I glanced at my watch and realized with apprehension that I was rather behind schedule (due to the fact that trains don't always arrive on time). This apprehension sent a signal to my legs, and they responded with a half-hearted gallop.

Coming into view of the Bus Stops below me, my half-hearted gallop turned into a whole-hearted sprint as I watched the 20 prepare to leave. In a last humongous effort, I charged down the stairs, onto the bus, and collapsed on my seat. Upon my triumph, I quickly proceeded to pull out my book, falling into a reverie. I was shaken out of my reverie, by the realization that I had ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA WHERE THE BUS WAS TAKING ME! In short, I was on the wrong bus.

As this realization coursed through my soul and proceeded to burn and turn to ash any self-respect I had up till now held for myself, I just sat there, stunned. What the jumping jehovah witnesses was I going to do!? A quick glance at my watch told me there was absolutely no hope of getting to my lesson on time, and as I had no idea where I was I decided on my course of action. I waited...and waited...and waited...

Until at long last the bus swept into Brentwood Station and I was able to take my burning cheeks and ashes home.

To be met by the indignation of my family at my stupidity. All of which I richly deserve.

Oh, and I just want to make one point clear. Yes, I take the bus quite often, and yes, this is the first time I've ever taken the wrong bus before. I'm normally not that stupid (I hope).