Monday was an . . . um . . . bad day. (You know it’s a bad day when I call Mr. Mom in tears and say “I’m . . . um . . . having a bad day.”)
It started on Sunday, a very good day by the way. After our outing to Cheesecake Factory for Kate’s birthday, I had an hour to spare before I spent the evening at a work obligation. You know what they say about idle hands. I ended up at Sam’s and bought . . . well, I bought more than would fit in my two-door Honda. No problem, I thought, as I paid for it all and arranged a pick up for the next day.
When I got to Sam’s on Monday to pick up the contents of my hour of power shopping, it became almost immediately obvious I was in trouble. The clerk loaded up the back of Mr. Mom’s truck and said “You’re close by, right?”
“Not really,” I said, suspicious of his cargo loading skills. “I’m 10 miles from my office, and then I’m 50 miles from home.”
“Uh oh,” he responded, which is never a good sign.
By the time I got on the highway, my problem was obvious -- the boxes were shifting and tipping scarily and, even though the clerk had used Mr. Mom’s cargo straps, I knew I was in trouble. I exited the highway and drove slowly back to my office on side roads. One of those side roads just happened to go by the pharmacy where I had an oder waiting, so I decided to swing through. Swing is the operative word here, only my chariot swung too wide and I hit a concrete barrier in the drive- through.
It was at this point, after surveying the damage to the side of Mr. Mom’s truck, that I made the phone call.
All I can say is Mr. Mom is absolutely the most decent man on the planet and, after assuring me he wouldn’t be upset about the damage, he advised me on how to reload and strap my boxes for the drive home.
But this presented another problem. I couldn’t figure out how to use the complicated ratcheting straps and the boxes were too big and bulky to handle alone, thus I had to coerce some people strong men at work to help me. Their conclusion: your load will never travel 50 miles at highway speeds. You need to leave half of it at the office and come back for a second load.
Could this day go any more awry?
Dejected, I headed home with half my haul. And after changing clothes and putting in my five miles (in record time, I might add), Mr. Mom and I left Mayberry at 8:00 p.m. for my second, two-hour round trip to Tulsa -- all because I couldn’t keep my purse closed the day before.
I’m pleased to say we made it home just fine. We unloaded the last of our cargo and I went to bed, exhausted.
Oh, and remember that post a few days ago about how spring fever had caused me to lust after porch furniture? Thanks to Sam’s . . .
