I live among the beige, gray and beige-ish gray homes in the English Glen subdivision on the north side of Marion. It’s the sort of neighborhood I made fun of when I was younger. I’d never live in the cornfield-turned-sprawl, I thought back then.
Think again pal. You’re home.
Or am I? On Wednesday, I became even more of a suburban caricature. I turned into the wrong driveway on my street, evidently unable to pick out my own gray vinyl house from all the others. And I was stone cold sober.
The younger me is doubled up somewhere, laughing. So was anyone who happened to look out their window on my block at that moment.
It was a tough life lesson. Next time, I’m going to push my garage door opener before I turn in.