In honour of the 4th, even though it’s the 5th, I kept the US spelling.
A Sheryl Crow classic, I woke up and had this song in my head. So now it’s become my Favorite blog topic.
Yes, I can pick favorites and contrary to popular belief, your parents do too.
If you’re an adult reading this blog, you know if you’re the favourite. Or at least pretend to. I digress.
This tune bopping around in my beautiful mind, I wonder; “What’s my Favorite Mistake?”
The first thing comes to mind.
‘Trying to this song at karaoke!’
I smirk at myself, always being the first to appreciate my wit.
In truth, Sheryl Crow songs are probably the easiest to sing at karaoke, because half the time, she’s not singing, she’s talking over music.
Would that be called tinging or salking?
Hey, if it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad.
I do enjoy my karaoke.
There’s always a song going on in my head, ready to bust out at any moment.
I smirk again.
My friends and family pretend to dislike this fact about me, because they try to keep me grounded.
I’m not comfortable with the negative connotation that “mistake” implies.
Forever the optimist, I think she really should rename the song; “My Favourite Indulgence.”
I digress. Again.
Because I’m trying to salvage this blog about commuting, I glance around my beautifully empty green chariot and realize what my “Favorite Mistake” is.
In commuter land, it’s definitely seat selection.
Where you sit on the train sets the tone for the day. Sets the stage.
Picking the perfect seat and your day will be magical.
Picking the wrong seat and your day will suck.
Choose wisely, and you get the golden ticket!
Whereabouts is my Favorite seat?
Early blog adopters would be able to answer this question for me.
The perfect seat is the one where no one sits beside you.
The perfect seat is devoid of the work talkers (nothing like discussing strategy at 6:29 in the morning!) the paper readers (ink on the face is not my best look) and the phone chatters (stage whispering—not a lost art).
I survey my kingdom.
A window seat means I’ll be boxed in.
An aisle seat seat means I’ll be bumped.
Either way, it’s imperative to wear headphones.
Even when I don’t have a device attached.
I find my favourite seat. It’s located in the mid-level purgatory between the alleged quiet zone and ground zero, where people talk.
About their jobs.
And how horrible their spouses are.
And how there should be free hot dogs.
I pick the spot that has extra leg room to put my bag and only one seat beside me.
For the first two stops, it really is magical.
My winning combination of dirty looks and detached headphones is working!
Right up until Burlington.
I see the luggage before I see the person.
Before I have a chance to escape, I’m stuffed in a corner, just like Baby, a la Dirty Dancing.
My Favorite Mistake.
I start thinking about taking dance classes.
The role of Patrick Swayze is reprised by the Customer Service Ambassador, who tells me the next stop is Oakville.
I spend a long time trying to bypass luggage lady.
My jacket ends up getting caught between our seats, and I tug on it, ever so slightly.
It’s released! I make my escape!
I’m so proud of my efforts.
As I switch trains, it’s a bit cool out.
I go to zip up my jacket and realize my zipper was lost in the transition.
Favourite Mistake indeed.