Simply A-Maze-Ing

My singles ward went to a corn maze for an activity. I had only ever been to one very small corn maze in my life, so I decided to attend and see what all the fuss is about.

Really, though. Corn mazes make no sense when you think about it. If you want to be hopelessly lost, I'm happy to blindfold you, dump you in an alley somewhere, and tell you to go find your way home. That would be way more challenging, not to mention free. Yet something tells me you wouldn't go for that. Kind of like how some people pay lots of money to jump out of airplanes for fun but would probably be traumatized if they had to jump out of a plane in an emergency.

Humans are weird.

Well, the corn maze was a ways away from Hometown, so it was necessary to carpool.

Now I'd forgotten that it was October. That is, I knew it was the month of October but I'd forgotten that October means it will be cold. In my defense, there wasn't a cold evening all month until this evening where I planned to spend a few hours lost in a bunch of corn. Love you too, Utah weather.

Joyfully, my parents' house happened to be on the way to the corn maze. The driver of my car pool offered to swing by so I could get something warm. I ran inside, grabbed a tam o'shanter and a pair of gloves, and ran back out.

We got on the freeway. Within ten minutes, we were lost.

There was a GPS. There was a smartphone. We'd find our way eventually. I took advantage of the lull to pull on my tam o'shanter, then turn my attention to my gloves.

"I think we need to go a little farther east," the passenger was saying.

And the driver was saying, "Let's pull over and figure out where we are."

And I was asking myself, "Why are these gloves stuck together?"

Upon close inspection, I saw that the gloves were sewn together through the fingers.

"Look at this map. This road runs perpendicular-"

Sewn together with a button to secure it all.

"But we passed that long ago-"

A heart-shaped button no less.

"Let's keep going-"

I thought perhaps the gloves were sewn together for a reason, so I tried to put them on while they were still sewn. However, the fingers were too thoroughly blocked. There was nothing for it. I'd have to rip out the stitches and the button, too.

"Let's turn around-"

I'd ripped out the stitches and was pulling the gloves on when my finger pricked something. Concealed in one of the fingertips of the right glove was a jeweled pin with a bird on it.

Seldom have I ever been as confused as I was by those gloves.

"We'll get there eventually," the driver and the passenger, unaware of my deeply bewildering glove struggle, finally decided.

And they were right. We found the corn maze eventually. Someone got a paper map and we all strode in.

My ponytail was pulled jauntily to one side to accommodate my tam o'shanter. My gloves were freed of buttons and birds and were securely upon my hands. I was ready.

This is what being in the corn maze sounded like:

"I think we need to go a little farther east."

"Let's stop and figure out where we are."

"Look at this map. This path runs perpendicular-"

"But we passed that long ago-"

"Let's keep going-"

"Let's turn around-"

And I was like, "Um, guys? Does anybody else realize that this is exactly what we were doing before we got here?"

"Oh well. We'll get there eventually,"

"Just me? Carry on, then."