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It’s All Fun and Games Until You Figure Out Where Your Butt Just Ended Up…

There’s nothing like trying to get your car loaded and looking up to see a 60 pound bulldog missile headed straight for you.  That is what you get for not making sure the storm door was completely latched.

No one will blame you for leaping 10 feet straight into the air to avoid being “bulled” over.

However, you might be considered culpable for leaving an animal in the car when it’s 540 degrees outside.  And there do not seem to be any legal loopholes for stubborn pets named Wonderbutt who refuse to believe you when you tell them that you have no intention of driving anywhere in the next 20 minutes.  Nor do there seem to be allowances for bullish dogs who will likely give you a hernia if you try to forcibly drag them out of the hot oven they insist on occupying because they have no intention of allowing you to leave them behind to miss all of the fun you surely have when they are cruelly abandoned in the air-conditioned house while you go on your exciting adventures to the grocery store and the gas station.

So, you must sigh, completely rearrange your plans, crank up the a/c in the car, and assign your 10 year old daughter to sit beside the resolute runaway as you quickly finish your preparations, grab your purse, and lock up the house.

Wonderbutt grins at me that he won this round.

Wonderbutt grins at me that he won this round.

And you chauffeur your smug canine to the destination to which you were not so eager to arrive in the first place.

The Boarding Kennel.

Note to Self: Shut Up

Do you know how sometimes you experience something and think, gosh it would really make me feel better to tell my Significant Other about this, but my Significant Other isn’t really going to benefit from that confession, so I’m just going to keep my mouth shut?  So, you resolve, hey, I’m never going to mention this little item to my Significant Other.  Like never.  Even if I think I’m dying or get really, stinking drunk.

And your Significant Other comes home from work, and you hear the door, and you tell yourself, now remember, Self, this is just between you and me.  What Significant Other doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

And then your Significant Other walks into the room and you blurt out,

“I almost died today!”

And your Significant Other thinks that, as usual, you are being over dramatic, and as you relate your story your Significant Other gets paler and paler as he realizes that, yes indeed, you almost died today.  Or, at the very least you almost got a huge auto insurance hike, which probably would have ultimately resulted in your demise anyway as soon as he found out.

It rained last night.  I will relate to you the fun of the evening at our house with two dogs who suffer from Storm Anxiety some other time.  But, the point is that I was very exhausted, and the roads were a bit slick when I was driving to work this morning.

I was cruising along the highway at 7 AM, completely commiserating with J.C. on Mix 96 who just got dissed by his mom because he reconnected with his biological father, when I suddenly saw a big metal fender thingamabobber sticking out of the road shoulder on my left.

I swerved to avoid it, swerved back to stay out of the cars in the right lane, and continued to live out every Defensive Driving Don’t Do This video clip I have ever witnessed the three or four times or maybe five times I’ve attended such courses, as I tried to avoid the concrete barrier.

I ended up careening through three lines of traffic, momentarily facing the wrong direction a couple of times, and finally landing in the lane next to the exit lane with a truck barreling toward me.

The truck driver apparently decided he would give me a break, and decided this would be a good time to exit whether he wanted to or not.

I rotated my car to face the right direction, merged right back in to traffic, and continued my trip to work.

Cap’n Firepants listened to the complete story, and, to his credit, said, “I’m glad you’re okay” instead of “Who the hell ever decided to give you a drivers license?  For God’s sake, give me your car keys now!  You’re a friggin’ Menace to Society, Woman!”

Which, I’m pretty sure, was whatHeMeant2say.

Pretty Much the Reaction I Was Going For

photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/soamplified/5633265669/”>Joaquin Villaverde Photography</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;

Little House on the Subdivided Plot

The only television show that rivaled my obsession for Nancy Drew when I was growing up was Little House on the Prairie.  I wanted to BE spunky little Laura – although my personality, through and through, was goody two shoes Mary.

Even more appealing to me than the television series, though, was the book series.  One thing that now amazes me as an adult was the ability of Laura Ingalls Wilder to not only remember her childhood in such detail, but to have the foresight that these stories might be interesting to other people.  Many of the real-life tales in the books must have seemed like mundane every-day experiences for her generation.  But now, we can’t believe that people would save up for glass window panes or be excited about oranges and a tin cup in their Christmas stockings.  And the dangers of Indians and wild wolves that surround your house are absolutely foreign to those of us who grew up in Soccer Mom Suburbia.

I figure my life, too, is going to seem amazing to future generations.  I mean, look at how much has changed since the 60’s.

For example, recently the battery on my car key died.  Not my car – the key.  Now, just think how odd that sentence would have sounded back in the day.  Not the Prairie Days.    The Scary, Hairy Days of the Hippies.  About when I was born.

Anyway, fortunately my car still has an actual lock into which I can stick the key, so I have been using that.  Dimples, however, keeps forgetting that I cannot unlock the car from a mile away.  So, she hits the car running 20 mph, yanks the door, and falls flat on her butt when it doesn’t open.  (She and Wonderbutt both seem to have problems with doors.)

Yesterday, she complained, “I’m tired of having to wait for you to unlock the door,” as I turned my key right and opened all of the locks.

I raised my eyebrows (at least it felt like that was what I did), and smirked.  “Kid, how would you like to wait while I opened the door with my key, sat my butt down in the driver’s seat, settled my purse on the seat, forgot you were there, put my seatbelt on, closed my door, started the car, heard you tapping on the window, remembered you were there, took my seatbelt off, leaned over behind the passenger seat, and reached with the tips of my fingers to pull up a little thingamabob on your door to unlock it?”

She raised her eyebrows.

“That’s right, Missy.  That’s how things used to be when I was a kid.”

“Was that back when Aunt Crash opened her door while your mom was driving and almost fell out of the car?”

“Yep.  Those were hard, scary times.  No child safety locks, no car seats, and no seatbelt laws.  It’s amazing we survived.”

Okay, so it wasn’t wolves and Indians.  But some day it might seem interesting.

My Covered Wagon with a Flat Tire - This Won't Be a Problem When Cars Fly

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