The other day, my hair stylist complained about the dead zone at the back of my head. While I assume there is one, growing as I age, I am not aware it is visible.
Turns out she was referring to that bundle of cowlicks back there that are a stylist’s nightmare. At least so she says.
Nonetheless, I got to thinking about a part of the body that has ceased to function in its expected manner. Maybe a brain could be on the move. It wouldn’t be the first body bit to be so accused.
There was a time when the medical community believed that hysterical paralysis in a woman was caused by the womb becoming unstuck from its normal position and lodging itself in a random location such as the armpit. The resulting paralysis of the arm might move to the leg if the womb decided to migrate to the groin.
This belief does not seem all that impossible to me. And if wombs can travel, then by golly, dead zones certainly can.
In fact, free-floating dead zones explain a lot, if you ask me.
• A dead zone lodged in the back of my head may explain why I just booked a lengthy cruise, even though my savings are somewhere south of the crapper.
• A dead zone in my will power explains the Double Fudge Death by Chocolate Cake smack dab in the middle of my latest diet.
• A dead zone in the upper thigh explains my remarkable resistance to pilates, treadmills, and long hikes uphill.
• A dead zone between the ears of my dog Dotty may explain why she forgets her name unless food is involved. It may explain her name, for that matter.
• Dead zones in the backs of the heads of our entire population may explain a great deal about our current political situation but, and here’s the good news, I will not get started on that.
I tell you, I’m liking this dead zone concept a lot. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is my own fault. Everything can be forgiven. I believe this to be religion for the non-religious, the opiate of the people with no self control.
Suddenly, armed with my new religion and fully equipped with a movable dead zone, I feel at peace on the back nine. And I am sure you can come up with examples in your own life.
Go in peace, my brothers and sisters.
Linda B. Myers is a founding member of Olympic Peninsula Authors and author of “Three Bears,” the newest in her Bear Jacobs mystery series, available on Amazon.com or at local retailers. Contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.