Getting Even

Sometimes you have to be proud of your kids. Especially when they pay your parents back for some evil act of yesteryear.

Case in point: driving with the Mimi.

When I was a lowly teenager, learning to drive at the ripe age of 15 (Texas allowed for younger drivers to get a permit at 15 if a hardship could be proven), my mother was responsible for much of my driving practice.

Before I say more, allow me to paint a picture for you. I always win the ugly car contest. Always. The entire world is under the mistaken impression that their first set of wheels was the worst ever in the history of automotive...you get the point. Y'all ain't seen nothing!

Picture this (because I sure as hell didn't keep a picture of it): an 1973 ice blue, government surplus, no A/C (this is Texas, remember?), AM radio, AMC Ambassador station wagon. Damn thing was a tank. It is impossible to drive down the road, incognito or otherwise, in that THING.

And it was indestructible, too. I got mad one day and backed into another car. Luckily the other car was a land yacht because it only took a dent to the fender while Old Blue had a shattered tail lamp cover (which mi espouso-then boyfriend repaired with red tape and all was good).

And now back to our regularly scheduled program.

Mimi decided one day that I would drive her home from the grocery store in Old Blue. I think it was my first or second time behind this particular set of wheels. Did I mention this thing was a TANK? Did I mention my depth perception is pretty crappy? Anyway, I am trying to turn from the parking lot onto a busy street and I hit the curb. We've all done that, right? No biggie.

Not with Mimi in the car. She's screaming. I over-correct and run the tank up onto the curb. I stop before anything gets damaged, but Mimi is still screaming. I don't recall what happened next, but I'm pretty sure harsh words were exchanged and possibly a few tears were shed.

Fast forward to today's text, and I quote: "Child drove down her first mountain with Mimi screaming all the way."

The parties involved include Mimi (of course) and Myrtle the Younger. They are currently touring the southeast part of the US (watch out, y'all have been warned.), with current destination of Monticello. Now I must point out that both Myrtles are excellent drivers and MTY is equally gifted with navigation. I must also note that Mimi has OCD, but let's just say her navigation skills leave a little to be desired. (Ask me about Alabama and live explosives sometime.)

All I can hope for is 1) they were on the right mountain, 2) MTY still has her hearing and will to live, and 3) they are having fun.

Y'all pray for them!

T.

Lottery?

I need to buy a lottery ticket. Today.

Why? Because about 2 months ago, my poor little Subaru was hit by a motorcycle (no injuries except to my Subie and the bike) and after some serious waiting, I finally got my Subie into the collision shop for repairs and I get a new set of wheels to knock around for a few weeks.

Before we continue, let me just say I love my Subies. This is my 3rd and I tend to drive their little wheels off. I got my first one because of the safety and reliability ratings; the next 2 were bought because it's a damn fun car to drive. (Dear Subaru, I anxiously await my referral check.)

That said, I was resigned to accept whatever mid-sized vehicle the rental company allowed me to have. So there I stand at 7:45 am, with an uncaffienated brain, waiting for my rental, only to learn...they are fresh out of mid-sized vehicles. Not only that, they are out of vehicles. Period.

Mind you, this appointment has been 2 months in the making. Mi espouso contacted the shop yesterday and was assured that all was ready for me to waltz in with my poor little Subie and drive away with...something else.

Did I mention I was uncaffienated? For some, this might mean a full-on melt down, but I stand there going "what?". Before the news fully runs the circuit of my disconnected brain cells, the poor child and her manager are hunting me up one mid-sized vehicle.

They must have had a run on mid-sized vehicles, because there be none to be had.

Seriously? But wait! "I'm sorry,  ma'am, we can't get you a mid-sized car, but we can get you a Camaro. Will that be okay?"

Uhm...let me think...Hell yes! Oh, wait. Is it red? Never mind. I'll take it.

So Mr. Manager toodles off to pick up MY Camaro while I sit and wait in the rental office. About 2 seconds before MY Camato arrives, some idiot returns a mid-sized car. "Ma'am, I can let you have this Altima if you prefer."

Are you kidding me?!!? Oh. Hell. No. (I politely declined.)

Subie? What Subie? I am cool. Now all I need is a winning lotto ticket to stay that way.

T

New York or Bust

As noted in previous posts, this Texas girl is NOT a traveler. This Texas girl gets weirded out whenever she crosses the state line (don't you need a passport to go to Oklahoma?).

Seriously, I might drive 80 or 90 mph while in native territory, but cross that line and I drive like my great-grandmother. I'm certain there a all sorts of rules that will get me thrown into some foreign hoosegow.

Take the fine example of NYC (my 1st trip here). I don't think I would last more than a few minutes (and that's being generous). While in the shuttle bus for 48 minutes to go about 5 miles, I learned about honking. It's a code. Maybe Morse, not positive about that, but maybe. Anyway, pick a language, any language, and tap it out in Morse code on your car horn. The long sustained blast is a period. Several sustained blasts is a question mark (let's not get into the exclamation point). Our shuttle driver spoke English but my Morse is pretty limited, but I'm almost positive our bus cursed at several cars along the way (politely, of course).

Then there was the subway. I'll get into that after the Valium wears off.

T