I'm afraid I'm becoming one of those little old ladies who really shouldn't be driving, but no one in her family quite has the nerve to tell her. I'm not really that old, I've just had some odd experiences lately that all seem to center around me and my little red Jeep
A few weeks ago, Hallie and I went to a friend's birthday party out in the country. On the way home, I noticed something in the road. It was a dog. Due to his prone position, I knew he'd been struck by a car and was most likely dead. Unfortunately, I did not see him in time to slow down much or swerve. I was trying to just sort of "pass over" him, if you know what I mean. However, I misjudged his size. After the sickening thud, my mind began to play tricks on me~what if it wasn't really a dog? What if I'd just hit a person? I pulled into a parking lot to turn around and go back. I had to wait for several cars before I could pull back onto the road. Since none of them slammed on their brakes to render aid at the crime scene, I decided it really was a dog and that I should spare Hallie and I from having a grotesque image burned into our brains. (Please don't judge or call the ASPCA. It was dark, we were alone in the country and I was afraid of what could've happened if I got out of my car to try and help/move the animal.)
Then last week, HannahKate and I lucked into some tickets for a Christmas Bazaar over in the Metroplex. It was a spur of the moment impulse, but we zipped over to see what we could see. We pulled into a great space in an underground parking garage, being very careful to note our level and location so as not to lose our vehicle (because that would just be dumb, now wouldn't it?). As we parked, a weird chain of events unfolded so quickly that I cannot even explain what happened, except to say we wound up outside the car and I immediately realized that the keys were still inside the car~locked. Can you believe that Dallas police officers, nor the building security guards could help me with even so much as the name of a locksmith? I didn't expect them to open the car for me, but I honestly would have thought they would have a list of area locksmiths at their disposal. I can't believe I'm the only dingbat they've come into contact with recently with the same dilemma. Finally, after trying three different numbers and waiting almost an hour in the bowels of the earth (ok, it was just one level underground, but it sure seemed bowel-like) a locksmith arrived. No joke. In less than 2 minutes he opened the door, handed me my keys and a bill for $95. 2 minutes. $95. I'm in the wrong business, I tell you.
(Waiting on the locksmith~HanK thought it was a good opportunity for a foot picture)
But the fun doesn't stop there. On Thursday, I went out to visit my friend in the country again. When I parked, I honestly thought the ground was dry and that I was still on the gravel enough for it to not be an issue. I was wrong. Apparently a Jeep sans 4WD is no match for a little mud. It was cold and very late and my friend's husband wasn't home. But being the country girl she is, she bravely got in and spun the tires until the Jeep was freed from the muddy mire~but not before creating some lovely ruts in her new yard.
And to top it all off, yesterday Joel needed a ride because he'd been shuffling work trucks around. He got in the backseat. I almost never drive when he's around. I guess I was just too lazy to get out and walk around to the passenger seat though. When we got home, I was trying to maneuver into the garage (which I do every day, several times a day without event) and I ran right into the door frame. Hard. Fortunately, there's no real damage~ just some scuffed paint on both the jeep and the house. But really?
So someday soon, I fully expect that I will "lose" my keys~only to learn that Joel has hidden them for my own safety as well as that of others on the road who might cross my path.