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Nikki Hardin
Founder and Publisher of Skirt!. A native of Kentucky, I left home at 17 to elope with my high-school boyfriend. Twelve years later, divorced with three children and unskilled at almost everything, I started college at the age of 29. Earned a B.A. in literature from American University in 1976 and a...
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Blind Spots

Thursday, November, 1, 2007

Every time I get in my car, I’m flummoxed by the fact that auto makers cannot solve the problem of the “blind spot.” It doesn’t matter how much I adjust my right side mirror, there is still the proverbial blind spot, that little time/space continuum which large SUVish objects and tiny MiniCooperish objects disappear into and suddenly loom into my vision just as I’m about to sideswipe them. Maybe I’m frustrated by this phenomenon because it mirrors my own tendency toward  personal blind spots, those areas into which my own faults and flaws seem to disappear, only to  pop up and blindside me at critical junctures. If only Honda and my therapist could get together for a brainstorming session and come up with a gadget that would warn me of road hazards, love accidents and soul tolls ahead.