Spots

 

 “Let me see a show of hands, how many are very aware of their blind spots?” the pastor asked the people. 

The people chuckled. She wondered, did they laugh because of the oxymoron, or to excuse the idea of blind spots, or of embarrassment over…. spots. After all, the statement exposed a rather not-talkable, not laughable condition.  

Such as—

Self-absorbed, miserly, thoughtless, stubborn, opinionated, controlling, demeaning, prideful. 

Spots.

She didn’t laugh, after she laughed. She couldn’t see her spots.  No flashlight. No mirror.  No husband. Spots prefer to remain hidden, private, left alone.  She unlaughed. 

Then, shakily, cautiously, she went spot hunting. Amongst her family, her dear friends, asking them to rip the blind off her spots.  It must be done. 

And sure enough, there they were. Spots. Out in the open. Drug to the surface. Pushed from the corners.. Under the light. 

Surprising, but true. 

Stingy, but necessary. 

Sorry, but helped. 

She raises her hand. She sees some spots. 

She is determined to clean the spots and laugh again.