Wake the kids and phone the neighbors because I passed my state real estate test!
Sweet lord, what a nightmare this has been. Had I been studying for something that is actually hard…like the MCAT's, I'm positive my brain would have spontaneously combusted. Who knew real estate law could hurt so much? Even thinking about it now causes the whites of my eyes to throb.
I've never thought of myself as stupid really. Slow sometimes? Sure. Directionally impaired? Absolutely. But stupid? I thought I was at least marginally better than stupid. Now I realize I'm just one small blow to the head short of having to wear a helmet and a bib everywhere I go.
"You're smart! You can do it!" That's what my friends and family told me throughout this educational ordeal. They've been amazingly supportive and frankly it was that support that made this whole deal even harder. Its one thing to fail when everyone you love expects you to fail. It's another thing all together when you've been told how intelligent you are and then you fall flat on your face. "Gee…we thought you were smarter than that, Sher. Do you need some help feeding yourself or learning to color in the lines?"
The day before the test, I woke up at 2:30 in the morning and studied and studied and studied some more. I consumed unhealthy amounts of coffee with Mountain Dew chasers and ate nothing but spoonfuls of coffee grounds mixed with peanut butter while simultaneously explaining functional obsolescence and stigmatized property to the dog.
I was an alert, wide awake, information machine ready for any test, any where, any how, any time. I could also hear the color red.
That is until about 5 PM when I started to crash from my caffeine induced high. I slowed down to a snail's pace and spent the next hour laughing hysterically while repeating the word "dumpling" over and over again. (In my defense, dumpling is a funny word.)
For me sleep deprivation is the same as smoking what my Daddy always referred to as Wacky-Backy. (I never inhaled.) When my body lacks sleep, I become what I believe is medically defined as wasted.
After sending my son to his Dad's for the night, I hopped in my car and drove way too fast and then way too slow and then way too fast again to meet up with Mr. Man so we could make the drive to the city and grab a hotel. I should have realized I was in trouble when I forgot the location of the friend's house where Man and I were set to hook up. I've only been there a hundred times, but somehow that night it mysteriously disappeared.
I drove around laughing and then crying and then laughing again because I had no idea where my husband was and why every time I called his cell, he pretended to be an old lady and answered, "Thank you for calling Wal-Mart".
The rest of the story is long and ugly and involves me threatening to move to Mexico and change my name to Juan Pedro and sell black velvet paintings of dogs playing poker to tourists. All you really need to know to achieve a nice and tidy happy ending is that I passed the test and nobody got hurt.
And when I say nobody, I mean nobody that the police can connect me with.