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Weekend Gotaway, Part I

This is my submission to the Hobbler’s Labor Day Weekend Pity Party Extravaganza.  I admit this is a bit late, which is really not like me.  I’m usually early for things.  But, when you think about it, 99% of my posts would pretty much fall under the Pity Party category – so you could say that I was at least a year early for this festive event.  Or, you could say that you just don’t care.  Which is pretty much the response I get for 99.1% of my posts.  Which is why you should pity me.

The reason that I am late is because the Firepants Family went out of town to visit our good friend, The Dictator, at her ranch.  For 3/5 of the Firepants Family, this is a Wondrous Adventure Out in the Country.  For the remaining fraction of the clan, it is an Anxiety Inducing 72 Hours of Sleep Deprivation.

Ranch weekends begin with the planning and the packing.  Dimples (9) is pretty self-sufficient in the gathering of necessities as long as she is given a packing checklist.  I, too, have a packing checklist.  I don’t think the Cap’n has a packing checklist.  If he did, it would be longer than the checklist for the Olympic Opening Ceremonies, longer than Noah’s checklist for the Ark, and probably even longer than the list of things the Republicans plan to change if they get back in office.

Here is my idea of packing for a weekend getaway:

 

And, here is the Cap’n’s:

 

Let’s just say that it’s good we decided not to bring 1/5 of the family (Mrs. P.I.B. – our golden retriever) on this trip, because she would have had to ride on the top of the car.  And we all know how that brilliant idea turned out for Mitt Romney.

The other reason Mrs. P.I.B. did not make the trip this time is because she paces and pants the entire time we are at the ranch, has done this for eleven years, and we finally decided that it’s quite possible she is not really happy on these trips, and that we really aren’t happy when she is not happy.

As it was, Wonderbutt, got to ride in the front seat, while Dimples and I sat in the back seat with even more bags of necessary items.

 

Cap’n Firepants asked me about three times if we had packed Wonderbutt’s food.  Since it was smushed in the backseat in a plastic bin for charcoal right between Dimples and me, you can imagine my chagrin when he kept asking me this question.

“YES, I have his food.  It’s in this charcoal canister on top of  my foot!” I answered for the last time.

“That’s not his food.  That’s the charcoal,” the Cap’n replied.  “In the charcoal container,” he added, with only a slight implication of the word “stupid” at the end of his observation.  And, since we were only 10 minutes away from the house, we got to turn around, and go back.  And then try to figure out how to fit the second charcoal container – which had dog food, thank you very much – into our very packed car.  We briefly entertained the thought of leaving the dog behind so we could find a place for the dog food, but you will be happy to know that we decided to leave the kid behind instead.

Just joking.  Of course, we left neither kid nor dog behind.  I volunteered to sacrifice my berth, but the Cap’n stubbornly wedged the 2nd container into the car, and we embarked on our trip a second time.

4/5 of the Firepants Family on the way to the ranch.  With 1/5 of the family already experiencing strong misgivings about this whole enterprise.

Hmmm.  Who do you think the not-so-enthusiastic car passenger could possibly have been?

Stay tuned this week for more reasons to pity Mrs. Cap’n Firepants…

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