Since I was a child, I’ve always had a very poor sense of direction. As in, the worst.

In fact, my hunches about the best route to follow, which exit to utilize, or even something as simple as whether to make a left or a right at a stop light / sign are somewhat renowned. In terms of how epically horrendous they are, that is.

In fact, I may very well have the worst sense of direction of any human being who ever lived.

Anywhere. At any time. Ever.

Seriously.

You’d probably be better off with a Neanderthal offering you wayfinding than yours truly. #SadButTrue

Once, I even got lost going to the corner store. It was literally up the road a block and at the end of the intersection — you know, on the corner of the street.

While many of our neighbors shopped there for all of their groceries, the Marinucci famiglia only bought candy there. In our casa, you shopped at the A&P for the staples and, of course. LaRiccia’s for all our Italian standards.

So, OK, one time, I may have walked up too far and had to make a big circle to get back to the store to score my Sixlets, Lemon Heads, Sugar Babies, Swedish Fish and Reese’s Pieces.

In my defense. I was very young and I do believe I only overshot the store once — but suffice it to say that I have not lived it down to this day.

I guess it’s understandable that I’m still ribbed about nearly five decades later. After all, it WAS practically within spitting distance of our house. If I’m not mistaken, we could see its roof from our kitchen window.

Either way.

My mad lack of skills when it comes to navigation is not just a running gag in my family, it’s basically the stuff of legends.

I clearly remember on a family vacation many moons ago, my father jokingly asking me how close I thought we were to our destination of Disney World in Orlando, Fla.

In my directionally-diminished child’s scope, it seemed like we’d already been on the road for DAYS. “Like, 10 minutes, Daddy?”

I think the hills in Raleigh, N.C., are still echoing from my sister’s mockery of me.

“Duh! We still have like, eight more hours to go,” she laughed out loud.

“I know that! I was just joking,” lied my little lips.

Hmpf.

The real irony is, it seems having my awful direction deficit is a job requirement for the very folks planning pathways for airlines.

I mean, why else would you have a layover in like Zimbabwe when traveling from the Pittsburgh Airport to Salem, Ore.?

OK, maybe that’s a stretch. But the airlines WILL try to entice you with lower fares if you agree to stop in Tampa, Fla., for seven hours and 22 minutes on your way from NYC to Sacramento, Calif.

Um, huh?

Even someone with my perplexing pathway planning can tell that’s not a straight shot, si? I swear they try to bribe you to go well out of your way to save 48 cents.

Proving my point that I missed my calling as an Air Traffic Controller.

What? Look, if they decided to follow California’s example of lowering the state’s bar standards to be a lawyer, it could happen!

Kimerer is a columnist who could get lost on the way to her half-bath unless she was really focused. Contact her at pkimerer@zoominternet.net.