Just Me

Sunday, February 19, 2006

The Box Trick

Oh what a mess, having to figure out how to do everything and then clean up after myself again.

I am glad that I built myself a little cabin in a non-descript sliver of land (expensive, I thought, for being little more than a rural alley between two much larger properties).

In that wonderful isolation, I can make as many stupid mistakes (including but not limited to inadvertently taking off all my clothes, eeek!, and fumbling around with how to get them back on again) as I would like, with no paparazzi to snap slews of unsolicited pictures or pedestrians to cover their mouths in horror and flee to the nearest police station to report the crazy woman who invariably caught their eye.

Let’s not talk about how my first attempt at property landscaping ended up with floating trees in the yard and pots of flowers sticking through my walls. (Nor all the times that I turned off Flying three stories up and landed on my face in the mud below, right in front of gawking passerbys.)

Probably the worst was not knowing that some purchases came in boxes that had to be opened in order to get at the contents. As intuitive as the right-click menu is, it’s of little use if you don’t have at least a basic understanding of what you are doing or how certain things work, and the items that showed up seemed to be the items to actually be used, rather than items in which other items were boxed.

I didn’t even know that there WERE boxes, let alone that things came in them.

Why was this the worst? Because I had no idea why I would put on what I thought would be a new blouse or a fresh hairstyle, and suddenly found myself wearing a crate (or what once looked like a huge picture frame, no kidding) over my head. Besides not being able to fit through standard doorways, let alone find them in the first place, I expect that casual conversation would become difficult for most people.

(“Hey, look, it’s the crazy lady — yeah, the one wearing the shoebox on her head! Five bucks says she can’t fit inside the car with that on without rolling down the window first!”)

This sort of thing is what led to me building my cabin in the first place, and always teleporting home before trying out a new purchase. After the first few public tragedies occurred and I was forced to watch my dignity expire, shuddering, before me, I never tried on anything in the store again. Eyeliner has always been a redeemer for sore eyes, but "blush" was quickly becoming my makeup of choice.

But once I figured the Box Trick out , I almost laughed in glee when they opened and I was able to move the contents into my inventory. (“Look! The crazy woman’s laughing now! Keep your fingers away from her mouth!”)

So it turns out all the shopkeepers HADN'T pegged me as an easy mark to peddle bad merchandise to, while pocketing my precious Linden dollars. I am glad I figured this all out on my own, before having to go back for help and exposing my occasional lapse into airhead-ism.

(“Crazy woman," I can hear them say, "she doesn’t even know how to open a box!”)

In any case, I now wear my hair on my head, and I throw out my boxes when I am done with them. Life is getting better and better in Rhynalae’s little log cabin, let me tell you -- even with that clumsily laid pile rug sticking through the back wall.

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