Category Archives: humor

Buzz Kill

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Buzz Kill

Hi friends, it’s been a while since I checked in. My world got pretty small for a few weeks when my father in law was placed on hospice. The family took turns caring for him in his own home until he passed away last week. We’re all still licking our wounds over here, he was one of my favorite people. He was a quiet example of living a good life, I’ll miss his zen ways. I’ll be forever grateful for the “good man” example he set for his son and grandson.

In the meantime, life goes on. The sun still rises, work needs to be done and kids have to go to school. The laundry piles are smaller, we’re starting to eat dinner together again and a new normal is settling in. (Psst…the new normal sucks)

Throughout this past month there were moments of gratitude and humor. My closest friends were there for me. Two suits appeared for my son to borrow, a belt was brought to visitation when I forgot one. Recommendations were made for where to find shoes for my daughter and her exceptionally tiny feet. We received an orchid, a tomato plant and an olive tree from kind friends who knew the man we honored. Mass cards were given and basically people just showed up, let our dog out and let us know we are loved. You can’t ask for more than that. It’s been raining since we left him at the cemetery, even the weather recognizes our grief.

OK shaking off the sad for some humor now…pivot with me. One day while I was sitting with my father in law a wasp got in. I could hear the buzzing and identified the culprit. I went to search for an old fashioned fly swatter. I knew there would be one, everyone over 80 is required to own one. Sure enough I found it tucked away in the kitchen between a cabinet and the wall. I stepped into the living room armed with the fly swatter and a determination to eliminate the problem.

Sitting with someone who is dying has a way of making you realize how precious life is in all of it’s forms. That’s the only explanation I can come up with as to why I was determined to usher this wasp out a window and not just smash it. The invader was stuck between the wooden blinds and a window. I cracked open a neighboring window as the escape hatch, I just needed to get my new friend to fly out of it.

There was coaxing and loud noises as I tried to get the wasp out the window. I provided some commentary for my father in law who was pretty quiet at this point but he had a front row seat to this show so it was the polite thing to do. After several loud attempts, mild cursing and antics that had a tinge of Lucille Ball, the wasp finally flew out the window. I was pretty proud of myself for dealing with the problem in a humane way.

A few hours later, the hospice nurse and my husband were both over and another wasp was in the house. At least I think it was another wasp, could’ve been the one I freed earlier getting in through some secret wasp back door. This one was really annoying doing fly-bys as we were discussing medication. This asshole had to be exterminated. I got the fly swatter again and got him mid flight, it was spectacular. I picked it up with a napkin and disposed of it in the garbage.

Another two hours tick by and son-of-a-b*tch there was a third wasp. I texted my husband thinking maybe we have a nest. We had a text exchange about it –

Me: I just killed another wasp. Three of the mofos got it in today.

Hubs: Are you sure the third one isn’t the second one? Unfurl the napkin in the garbage can to be sure.

Me: Hell no I’m not unfurling napkins to see if your wasp is the Jesus of the wasp world rising after death…I will seal the garbage bag and take it outside like a normal person.

I managed to get the third (or perhaps it was the first or second, I didn’t check the napkin) wasp out the front door. Never to return.

 

Graphic Credit: Copyright: <a href=’https://www.123rf.com/profile_derocz’>derocz / 123RF Stock Photo</a>

 

 

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I Might Be Terrible

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I Might Be Terrible

I’ve been doing cringe worthy crap my entire life. This week has been off the chart, here’s a recap:

Last night I was in a doctor’s office with my daughter. She needed to get an X-ray. I saw a close friend with her daughter also waiting for an appointment. Instead of just saying hi like a normal person. I go over and say “What are you in for?” because people love to announce their private medical concerns in a crowded waiting room. I might be terrible.

One evening at bedtime my daughter mentioned that she has fears of someone breaking in and killing everyone. She asked if I would run in and rescue her. I said, “Hell no, I’ll be running for my life. You’re smallish, hide in a closet, play possum, figure it out.” Now I’m wondering if we should just put her college fund toward therapy. Probably terrible.

A dear friend has been dealing with a kid with a foot injury. Her kid is pretty delicate so the pain tolerance level is – butterfly kisses chafe. One morning this week she was trapped in bed with her tween, afraid of waking her daughter if she moved. I don’t know how long she was pinned, arm going numb as her bladder begged to be emptied. Most parents have been held hostage in this way – desperate to escape, afraid to rouse the sleeping child.

The injury happened over the weekend and the effects lingered for several days. She kept her daughter home from school on Monday, concerned that she wouldn’t be able to use the bathroom without assistance. Later that day she sent me a picture of the balloon animals they made out of an excess of desperate boredom. I texted her…If your kid can make a G-D balloon dog she can pull up elastic pants, that’s all I’m sayin’. My friend insisted the issue was with putting weight on her injured foot, but still…moderately terrible.

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This is the balloon animal my friend made. It appears to have some kind of balloon animal medical issue. I don’t know what it is exactly but my visceral reaction is concern for the balloon and my friend.

I was assisting an 80 year old client with bathing this week. Three minutes into the bath she mentioned that she felt an urge to go. I may have said “please don’t sh*t in the tub” repeatedly under my breath. She has really good hearing. Sh*t in the tub is a horror show so, probably not so terrible.

This weekend I accidentally took my son’s phone. Not too terrible, EXCEPT when he suggested that I might have accidentally picked it up and I immediately dismissed the idea. In fact my husband and I thought that perhaps our son was scared that he lost the phone and was desperate for a scapegoat. Then my husband and son searched the path of a walk they took the prior evening (the search took place in cold, rainy conditions because of course it did). Approximately an hour later the phone was found in my car. Clearly my son’s suspicions were proved correct. Moderately terrible, I apologized.

I was catching up with some volunteer work the other day. To be honest, I’ve wanted to “retire” from this particular project but the benefits are so good it’s hard to walk away. That’s a joke the benefits are a significant loss of personal time, a severe lack of appreciation and agita. I was emailing another volunteer and she was getting a bit testy with me. I decided to use the exchange as a writing prompt and somehow managed to send her a text with my observations which I intended to flesh out into a fictitious blog post. Bottom line is I hurt the other person’s feelings. So I’m terrible AND an idiot. I apologized, definitely terrible.

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From this day forward, all the sh*t that goes sideways will be known as a writing prompt. What terrible cringey things have you done this week?

I leave you with this gem – How to Make a Balloon Poop Emoji –

 

 

 

 

 

Basic @sshole

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Basic @sshole

We walked into the cafe in the middle of the lunch rush. It had that industrial-rustic-chic decor that has taken over the US in the past 15 years. Am I in a country store or an abandoned warehouse, I’m not sure. All these places look alike – exposed HVAC duct work, “distressed” wood floors and tables with some metal accents, large chalk board and minimalist light fixtures. I’m sure this decor is described in the first chapter of the Gentrification 101 Handbook. To be fair, I liked this look the first 15,294 times that I saw it.

Unfamiliar with the particulars of this cafe, we grabbed a menu and got in the 10 people deep line. By the time we got to the register we were just about ready to order. The part of BA (Basic @sshole) will be played by the cashier.

Me: Hi, how big are the sandwiches here? We’re thinking of sharing.

BA: (audible eye roll) They’re….(hesitation, he wanted to say basic, I know he did)…Uh, normal.

Me: OK, we’ll get the chicken salad sandwich with a side salad and a bag of chips. I’ll take a coffee as well.

Friend: Do you have any fountain drinks?

BA: (gasp, with momentary look of horror) Noooo

Friend: Um, OK I’ll get a water.

BA: Take this number and put it on your table, hands me my coffee.

I begin to pay with a credit card. Of course they have the Apple register here, required apparatus (it’s in the Handbook). BA can’t wait for me to finish signing my name on the display and huffs over to the other register to start the next order, clearly annoyed that I haven’t moved on yet.

My friend and I look at each other like “WTF was that about” and search for seating. We had to settle for one of those community style tables (check that off the requirements list, it’s in the Handbook).

I got up to fix my coffee and grab a a few napkins. That’s when I realized that BA was simply towing the corporate line because I saw this above the napkins:

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Aggressively pro-environment and condescending. (Chapter 2 of the Handbook)

I looked around and realized the median age was probably 23 and my friend and I were not the desired demographic. Then I noticed the chalkboard, it took over an entire wall. And then I smiled a little because it wasn’t current. I suspect they ran out of sustainably farmed chalk, that’s the only viable explanation.

Slow Your Roll

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Slow Your Roll

Some observations from a recent road trip returning from the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop in Dayton, Ohio to Bucks County, Pennsylvania…

We left at the crack of 8am, 7:45 to be precise. We both carried an enormous amount of luggage to the car. We are “one trip” gals. You know the type, 12 bags of groceries in the family vehicle and determined to lug it all in with one trip. The husband and kids scatter like roaches when the lights come on whenever it’s time to unload the car.

We’ve been training for this for years. Last week I got eight bags in the house in one swoop. I’m not talking about those plastic bags that you wear up your forearm like the worst bracelets ever invented. These were fully loaded paper in plastic bags filled to the tippy top. The task would have been simpler if only I had remembered my reusable bags. Those things rarely get a glimpse of the world beyond the juice stained, tissue infested floorboard of my car. Naturally, the groceries were bagged in the same order that they will be unpacked because I’m domestic and sh*t. Anyhow, the combined 432 pounds of books we acquired did not alter our “one trip” course. I suspect we resembled Sherpas at the base of Mt Everest but no one seemed to notice.

We decided to just get up and go, hit the road early. No shower, no coffee, no breakfast, surely we will find something on the way. That was stupid. Our first round of disappointment was at an Ohio rest stop. We thought, “surely there will be coffee here”, nope. It was an impressive building from the outside looked like it had been built within this decade. Inside was a cavernous land of empty bathrooms, disappointment and broken coffee dreams. There were bathrooms and vending machines, that’s it. We hadn’t yet reached the – let’s see if there is vending machine coffee – phase of desperation so, we got back in the car, sans steamy nectar of the Gods.

I don’t know how many miles passed before we saw an exit sign that hinted at coffee. It felt like it took two days and we were still in Ohio. We decided to exit the highway and fetch a cup to go. I was drawn to the shiny building. It looked like a 50’s diner, a chrome and neon oasis, surely they will have coffee. They did indeed have coffee.

We waited anxiously at the cash register where we made and paid for our purchase. The place was a blur of breakfast activity, it was clear that we hit the rush hour. It’s fine we’ll just wait, how long could it be? After an eon our coffees arrived and then we were shooed to a side of the counter to deal with our coffee fixins. I can get by with no sugar, I can not adapt to no cream. Our request for cream was met with a handful of those little half and half cups. You know the ones, they have approximately three drops of some mysterious liquid that the lab has passed off as half and half (half and half of what exactly, I’m not sure).

So there we were at the counter, desperately opening the three drops full containers in a frenzy while being bumped into by waitresses hauling enormous breakfast trays. Those creamers require the dexterity of a skilled surgeon to open. It was not graceful or efficient but we persevered. It was clear that the five containers they gave us would not suffice, we needed more half and half. I spied a table with a little bowl overflowing with them. I was tempted to make a request but the occupants were deep in conversation and I didn’t want to disturb them. Eventually we flagged a waitress down and noticing our empties, she gave us a bucket full of creamers. We finally got out of there and it’s barely worth mentioning but…the coffee was not worth the wait.

We were back in the car with mediocre coffee in hand. It was another 40 minutes before we saw the green and white sign. We knew the coffee there would also be mediocre but it would be a level up from the swill we already purchased. This time we opted for the drive-thru. Since I don’t like the coffee at this particular chain, I usually get a chai tea latte. I was still somewhat under-caffeinated and glazed over from the hours of early morning driving and ordered a “chatte latte” which sadly, only exists in my sleepy-caffeine-deprived mind. My friend gave me a quizzical look and I corrected the order immediately. Then we went on a wild tangent and by the time I got to the window to pay for the order, I had laughter induced tears in my eyes. The young woman handing over the steaming beverages did not find us amusing. In her defense, if she had heard the fictitious story about the lumberjack and the negligee wearing giraffe, she may have at least smirked.

Back on the road and did I mention that I got a speeding ticket on our outbound journey? True story and dashboard Jesus was instrumental in negotiating a lesser fine (Thank You Jesus). Anyhow, that tempered my lead footed ways. My friend’s consistent “slow your roll” commentary also kept me in check. We kept driving, sharing bits and pieces of our lives with each other, some stories were a refresher on previous conversations. Other bits were long ago fragments of chapters in each of our stories that we simply hadn’t gotten to in past chats. Each story was told with frankness, without fear of judgement which truly defines this friendship. It is quite magical when that happens.

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I’m pretty sure this is the universal sign for “slow your roll”

In our last stop on our way home we filled up the gas tank and then opted to get a snack. We were six hours into the journey at this point and I stumbled upon the best snack food ever created. I sh*t you not. Werther’s Original Caramel Popcorn (Sea Salt & Pretzel) is a snack GAWD. I have been searching for this stuff ever since we returned. Local stores can’t keep it on the shelves. I may break down and buy it online because I can only find the plain caramel variety and that just isn’t getting the job done. If you want to follow me down this rabbit hole, check out the review I stumbled upon:

http://junkbanter.com/2016/09/20/review-werthers-original-caramel-popcorn-sea-salt-pretzel/

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99 varieties of caramel popcorn and Werther’s Original with Sea Salt & Pretzel ain’t one.

When we were an hour out from our destination I texted my husband, it went like this:

Me: I’ll be home around 5pm

Hubs: OK we have food.

My friend and I were both stumped by his text so we did what women do, we put it under the mental microscope for analysis. Did he think I would cook dinner? Is he saying don’t stop at the grocery store? He can’t possibly think I’ll cook dinner or food shop after a 10 hour drive…

The mystery was solved when I came home and saw that we did indeed have food. Turns out my father in law was in the mood to cook so there was a lasagna and stuffed eggplant for dinner. That was a nice surprise.

My advice for a successful road trip is simple:

  1. Pee before you leave
  2. Bring snacks
  3. Take Jesus with you
  4. A great friend makes the time and miles fly
  5. Slow your roll

 

 

Sweet Jesus Take The Wheel

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Sweet Jesus Take The Wheel

I left the house at 6am in a dark, thick cloud of fog. The kind of fog that makes you think of Stephen King movies. Too bad, so sad, I’ve got 555 miles to go before I arrive at my destination.

My first stop was the gas station to fill up my beast on wheels. It was so empty I’m sure I heard it burp when I closed the gas cap. Then off to fetch my partner in crime, (ooooh…foreshadowing) Leah Vidal.

We hit the road at 6:30am sharp and were doing fine for the first twenty minutes until I got turned around on a road I frequently travel. We were busy yapping, I got distracted. Back on track our next slow down was the PA Turnpike. We were caught up in some traffic for the first hour or so and then things opened up.

It’s super easy to lose track of how fast you’re going. The road was clear and we finally had a patch of dry weather and open highway, my foot got heavy. Several hours into our journey we passed a cop on the side of the road. It wasn’t long before the dreaded lights were flashing in my rear view mirror.

This wasn’t my first rodeo, I’ve been pulled over before. I’m a little past my best “flirt-your-way-out” years so I wasn’t optimistic. I decided to stick with super polite bordering on ass-kissing as my tone.

The Officer was calm and measured in his approach. I had the necessities waiting for him – license, registration, and proof of insurance. My passenger and I both smiled at him with enthusiasm when we began our conversation.

Officer: “License,regist….oh thank you.” “Where are you ladies going?”

Me: “Dayton, Ohio sir.”

Officer: “You were doing 87” (that was a shock I had us pegged around 82). Then I instantly flashback to the scene in Planes, Trains at Automobiles when Del Griffith tries to talk his way out of getting the car impounded)”OK are you two sisters?”

Me: “Nope, just good friends going to a conference.” I then do my best game show model arm gesture and point to the dashboard and say “We brought Jesus with us.” (Clearly an act of desperation). I did catch a smirk from the Officer which gave me some hope.

 

It kind of looks like Jesus is flipping me off but he is holding several fingers up, I checked.

The Officer came back a few minutes later after shaving several miles off the ticket, thus saving me some points ($) on my license. We were grateful and thanked him for the discount. I may have touched his arm in a quasi creepy manner and said thanks with more enthusiasm then the situation warranted. In hindsight, I wondered if we should have said we were sisters..would that have resulted in a warning we’ll never know. When we got back on the road, I set the cruise control, Jesus take the wheel.

 

Erma Bound…I’m Bringing Oreos

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Erma Bound…I’m Bringing Oreos

One more sleep until my friend Little Miss Wordy (insert shameless plug: https://littlemisswordy.com/ ) and I make the trek to Dayton, Ohio. It’s an estimated 9 hour drive which sounds awful but Leah and I haven’t seen each other much the past two weeks so we will chat the time away. I’m the newbie on this road trip and I’m pretty excited about it.

This is only my second time traveling for a writing workshop. My first was Writer’s Digest last summer in NYC. That was great but I already know this one will be better. It’s smaller which is a plus and the genre is more specialized. I’ll be honest, I didn’t know much about Erma when I signed up for this event. I’ve been catching up, reading her long ago columns and getting glimpses into her life. I think we would’ve gotten along just fine.

Here’s what I’m packing:

  1. Hope. Hope that I have indeed found my tribe. That I will be surrounded by people that “get” me. A home where my quirky sense of humor is appreciated or at least accepted.
  2. Willingness. Willingness to be open to new ideas and listen attentively to people and concepts that I may not encounter on a daily basis.
  3. Friendship. The spirit of friendship and good will. I hope to bring this with me when I return home.
  4. Kindness. To everyone I encounter on this journey.
  5. The other essentials – clothes, toothpaste, toothbrush, lap top, chargers, 4 pairs of shoes, and a variety of black sweat pants that all look the same to the untrained eye.
  6. Oreos. To sweeten some introductions and to promote my book which has some mention of Oreos sprinkled throughout. Anyone have connections at Nabisco?
  7. My book draft!

 

Here’s what I’m leaving behind:

  1. Ethel. Ethel is the self-doubting prairie dog that lives in my head. She’s awful and sneaky, she pops up from time to time.
  2. Expectation. Keeping this to a minimum.
  3. Impatience. I have gobs of this at home hoping I don’t need it on this trip.

 

To all the friends I haven’t met yet, I look forward to meeting you in person. I’ll be the one with the Oreos probably wearing a hat and perhaps a cape.

Dementia

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Dementia

Dementia is a beast. I have a client that I visit a couple of times a week, she has moderate dementia. I’ve been visiting her and her husband for almost a year and we’ve gotten very close. She’s a bit feisty and I like to tap into that side of her personality, she seems happy there.

Last week we were walking in the hallway (“airing out” as we call it) when I had a brilliant, awful idea. The residents put a lot of thought into the decor around their front doors. Wreaths, plaques, photos and other seasonal tchotchkes line the narrow shelves that flank the apartment doors. I suggested that we switch a few of the wreaths around and watch to see what the residents would do. She thought it was the best idea ever. Of course we didn’t do it, we only dream of being that rotten, but it made her laugh.

She turned 80 this past weekend. My friend celebrated with her extended family and she sounded happy when I called her. I was surprised she picked up the phone. She is very picky about which calls she takes and I didn’t think she would recognize my name on the Caller ID. I suspect her family urged her to answer.

That’s the awful part about dementia. You forget – people, places, names, events….where the bathroom is, what’s a brush, how to read. My friend still recognizes that my face is a friendly one and she enjoys our time together. She just can’t connect all the dots.

Today she asked me if I liked any boys. I told her I still liked my husband, she chuckled. She asked again a few minutes later and I simply said “not really.” I never press a person with dementia or try to explain complicated situations. I’ll distract them to try to calm them but I avoid correction. Any change gets her antsy. It could be a different pill container or a blue cup instead of a red one, change is hard.

Last week I was straightening up the apartment and I noticed a pat of butter in a dose cup. The kind of cup that cradles the lid of cough medicine. There sitting on the bathroom vanity was a pat of butter in a dose cup. That’s what dementia looks like. You try to make sense of it but it in the end rational thought does not prevail. You just find the logic where you can and hope to ease the stress and anxiety with some laughs along the way.

My friend wrote a note to me on Tuesday. She wrote in on a napkin, her way of making me promise I would be back soon. This is what she wrote:

 

“I will come

on Friday.

Hurry Up or Else!

Keep this.

Love, Helen”

 

 

Sex Bomb

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Sex Bomb

I had a visit with an elderly couple today. I see them twice a week. I make them lunch, do some laundry but my main job is to socialize with the wife. Helen tends to get a bit down sometimes and dementia is causing her to become forgetful. Her husband, Ralph, wasn’t feeling good today and I wanted to lighten the mood a bit.

One of the grandkids got them an Echo Dot for Christmas. I thought some music might make my friend smile a little so I had Alexa play some Paul Anka, Frank Sinatra, The Doobie Brothers (I was hopeful, she didn’t like them) and finally some Tom Jones.

The first Tom Jones song to come on was “It’s Not Unusual” and she loved it so we kept Mr. Jones on. The next song was one I never heard of – “Sex Bomb”. My ears did a double take and I instantly thought….Houston we have a problem. I looked over at my octogenarian friend and she was dancing. Here’s the chorus in case you aren’t familiar –

Sex bomb, sex bomb you’re my sex bomb –  You can give it to me when I need to come along (Give it to me) – Sex bomb sex bomb you’re my sex bomb – And baby you can turn me on (Baby you can turn me on)

Enjoy!

Moms Don’t Get Sick (Yes we f*cking do)

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Moms Don’t Get Sick (Yes we f*cking do)

I’m going to throat punch the next person that says “Mom’s don’t get sick” to me. Right after I cough and sneeze directly into their left eye. I know, I’m cranky it’s the Advil Cold & Sinus talking and no they didn’t pay me to type that. Actually that is the only thing that helps (still waiting for payment, ah-Choo). Here’s that annoying commercial from Dayquil. I know I’m mixing shit up it’s the headache, lack of sleep and difficulty breathing.

Anyway, I know I’m “#blessed” because this is only a shitty cold and not some disease that wants to take me down one deteriorating cell at a time. I just suck at being sick. Forcing myself to rest is difficult. I called out of work today and I felt bad about it. My client is an 80 year old woman and I know she really looks forward to our visits. The risk of getting her or her husband sick outweighed the guilt.

Another fortunate thing for me is my kids are older. Moms and Dads of littles that get sick are really screwed. Scratch that anyone who is the primary caregiver that gets sick is royally screwed when they, themselves get sick. It’s not just parents of littles, it’s spouses of  the chronically ill, caretakers of people with special needs , adult children caring for parents. I see you and I hope you feel better and get the rest you need to take it all on again. As for me, this Momma is taking a sick day.

Notes from the Road

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Notes from the Road

Got home a few days ago from a road trip with the family. We traveled from Southeastern Pennsylvania to New Hampshire during the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day. We took my middle-aged Honda Pilot which has over 150K miles on it. It’s comfortable, yet beat up enough that we can park it anywhere and not worry about bad car neighbors. The hubs filled the tires with air, I brought snacks and we hit the road 2 hours past our target departure, typical for us.

My husband and I like to recreate this particular scene with every uncharted drive that takes longer than 90 minutes. First, we enter the address into my car’s GPS (we’ll call her Sheila). She has proven to be a moron time and time again. We review the directions on the screen and see that Sheila wants to send us over the George Washington Bridge instead of the Tappen Zee. “No Sheila, you’re drunk again and that’s a terrible idea”. The hubs and I go into our usual script.

Hubs: “Why don’t you pull up Google Maps on my phone and see what it says.”

Me: (why didn’t you do this 2 days ago) “Sure, hon.”

Hubs: (What is your problem?) impatiently “Well?” Tries to take the phone “I’ll do it.”

Editor’s note* – the hubs always has a phone 3 versions up from mine so I never know what the hell I’m doing.

Me: (Oh FFS why can’t I get this right, swipes wildly, accidentally closes the app, has to start over 3 times, starts to sweat and feels car sick) “No, you’re driving, if you want to switch places, pull over”. “Hold on” tilts head up in a desperate, silent prayer – please help me God, you know I’m a Luddite. “OK, got it. This says take 202, 287, yup go over the Tappen Zee”.

Some variation of this conversation plays out for every road trip headed North. I am getting better with the apps, the hubs is still impatient and Sheila remains stupid. Personally, I think I should just drive but the hubs gets a bit “cave man” about driving and I don’t mind the naps (I just yawned).

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The miles tick by usually with NPR on for something intelligent or at least mildly amusing. At some point the Radio Gods gift us with wavy static reception and we have to switch stations. The go-to after public radio is usually classic rock. Sometimes we slip in some current pop to make the girl happy. She usually creates a cocoon for herself in the middle row and slips into sloth mode. She’s pretty quiet with the occasional request for current music. The boy is solidly on board with AC/DC.

Whatever station we listen to, I usually know the words to 95% of the songs. If I don’t know the words, I just make them up. And yes I am that person who likes to “perform” when the mood strikes. I had just completed a set that included; Aerosmith (Dream On), Journey (Lights), Pink (What About Us) when my husband turned to me and said: “Are you going to sing every song?” To which I replied, “Well, that was the plan” and then he said something about singing in your head. And then I punched him in the face and he started to….kidding that only happened in my brain.

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A few minutes later Pat Benatar (Hit Me With Your Best Shot) came on and he made a comment “now if you could sing like her”…which was especially insulting since I did that  song at karaoke a couple of months ago. A friend and I sang it at a fund raiser and neither of our husbands stuck around for our performance. My friend saw both of our husbands a few minutes later (hiding in a dark corner, pretending not to know us) and said “did you hear us” and my husband, smooth talker that he is – without skipping a beat said “I thought that was actually Pat Benatar.”

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Funny, he didn’t remember that in the car. I considered divorce for a few minutes. I got over it with some pretty dramatic lip syncing to compensate for the lack of actual singing.

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