Day 9; Dear Future, Where is My Jetpack?

Now to find my jet pack…

Day 9 Prompt; It’s 2018. Where did you last see your jet pack on Saturday?

The tingling sensation on her nose startled her and she scratched it briefly with her eyes still shut as she turned over to continue napping. The sensation moved to her forehead and she brushed it off before turning again. She napped a few seconds longer before she felt a soft sensation on her neck. Like something crawling on her. That was when she sat up on the couch up with a start. Frantically touching her neck to feel for bugs as she freaked out. Her sister was behind her laughing hysterically holding a feather.

That was me. I blacked off after the baby finally took a nap. Noone tells you how hard it is to be a new mom. All they mention is how fulfilling it is to watch the little one grow. Well, at this juncture, I am tempted to say I am more frustrated than fulfilled. I do live for the times when the baby smiles and plays with me. Don’t get me wrong. But before those moments show up. I am a wreck. Emotionally, physically and psychologically. Don’t let the cuteness fool you. I’m convinced they do this on purpose to test you. ‘How far can this big human go for me?’ Pretty far apparently. My hair has seen better days. No time to love on it.

Miraculously, the little one is still asleep so this is my perfect chance to sneak out of the house and get reacquainted with the rest of the adult population. My sister can watch her. She can put that mischief to good use for a change. Can’t wait until she has a child of her own. Oh sweet revenge I long for thee. A long shower and a turban later, I am set to go out. There’s no bad hair day that a turban can’t fix. Thank God for those. Now to find my jet pack. I have the worst habit of just dropping it anywhere. I think it’s somewhere in the garage. I’d take the car, but the chances of me getting anything done in this traffic is minimal. Jet packs are the next best thing to wings. Although they are too noisy. I heard there were models with less noise, but they are so bloody expensive. At that price, I’d have to marry it to justify the expenditure.

I finally found it in the kitchen pantry and I’m off. I swear that pack will one day start a fire. I need to watch where I leave it. One not so lovely side effect of jet packs is the number of accidents up there. When you’re not watching out for bird poop, you’re swerving to avoid a fellow jet packer who’s flying recklessly while talking on the phone. The price of development I guess? I hear they have teleportation in Japan. I can’t wait for that. But they’ll probably get here when teleporting isn’t cool anymore. Third world problems.

My local salon is on a rooftop. Intentionally. Jet packers have always complained on the rarity of finding a place to ‘park’ on basement or ground floor so we have formed a rooftop kinship. We all know each other and have the customary head nod to acknowledge each other at the parking lot or in the air. Rooftop businesses are now the range because most the clientele can afford the increased prices rooftop business charge effortlessly. Time to pamper myself. My friend joins me and we have a great time catching up while enjoying the pampering. Anytime spent away from a baby’s butt is comforting. Although I do miss my little scream machine. My husband texts me to ask if I need a ride home just as I am paying and getting ready to leave the salon. I walk downstairs to the car and we drive off. I can’t seem to shake off this nagging feeling that I’ve forgotten something though. I’m probably just missing the baby.

(Five minutes to the house and a short nap later..) “Shit! My jetpack.”

Originally published at southsidesahara.wordpress.com on December 3, 2015.