Today I was working at my church secretary job. (Yes, God allows people with a sense of humor to work for him, don't be so shocked.) While I was there, the conversation between our pastor, Bro. Mike, and I turned to personality traits and since we both tend to enjoy letting a tangent run, it ended with me taking a test to see which one I was.
Normally I cheat at these tests to get the desired result because they are usually the same old boring test and you end up finding out if you should be a fireman, or work in forestry, or be a mathematician or be a nurse but this one was so sneakily set up that there was no way for me to cheat. (I cheat because I hate math and will do anything to avoid any kind of career that involves it. This is why I am a church secretary. Although I still deal with "Numbers" as a book of the Bible and I am totally O.K. with that.)
The test results indicated that I was probably a #7- the Enthusiast. At first I was skeptical. But I took home the background reading that went into depth on this personality type. I parked my butt on the couch and started delving into it. There were lots of things I agreed with. Like how #7's don't like rules and authority, how we like to have a bunch of different things going on at once, and how we're easily distracted but generally cheerier and more optimistic than other personalities. It went on to say that usually the Enthusiast will turn any horrible event into something positive. It also said that a #7 has no qualms about looking foolish in front of others (so true, so true) and that we can be a bit of an Entertainer. (Welcome to My Psychosis, ha ha- No- Really!!) Robin Williams is a #7. It was quite indepth and accurate.
Everything was making sense but I kept feeling irritated every time it said #7's were "scattered." Nooooo, not me buddy. I have got it to-gethuh! (Insert double finger snap and head swagger.) Scattered? I don't think so.
I was making notes in the margins and underlining things that were right on the money. That's when..... I smelled it. The smell of burning. So engrossed was I in reading about myself that I totally forgot that I was boiling potatoes for ham pot pie. They had been boiling for almost an hour and a half by themselves. The house was starting to get smokey. I don't know about the other #7's in the world, but I lose most of my 5 senses when I'm reading. Luckily my sense of smell remains vigil.
I ran in to the kitchen to find blackened mashed potatoes stuck to the bottom of my pot. This removed all doubt from my mind that I may be scattered. The proverbial scales fell from my eyes and the truth landed on me like seagull poop at the beach. I laughed so hard the dog came running to the screen door to see what the hubub was about. He likes my scattered-ness because he got to eat the burnt potatoes that I had to throw away.
So I cut up more potatoes and put more water on in a different, unburnt pot and set them on the stove. Then I went upstairs to email Bro. Mike since I thought he would get a kick out of it. This time I set the timer on the microwave so at least I'd get a reminder beep. Ten minutes later I went down to the kitchen to check the potatoes.
They were still cold. I had forgotten to turn the stove back on.