Oh Mondays....
Not only was it Monday which was annoying enough as it is, but it was one of those Monday's. You know, where you wake up, crawl out of bed, trip over the cat, blunder to the door to let the dogs out, see a horse that isn't yours in your yard, and stumble to the bathroom so you can take your wake-up shower.
Today I was lucky enough to drive the Toyota to the vanpool meeting place, and without incident, I might add. This was a welcome change as I was thoroughly convinced throughout the entire winter that it was somehow possessed as it made several attempts on my life over the last six months.
The day went rather smoothly for a Monday until it was time to pack up and go home. We moved into a new office...it is beautiful. State of the art. As I was carrying my coffee cup to the kitchen something happened that can only be described in my family as a Jenny Moment. Like any Jenny Moment there is no explanation. There is no reason. There is no logic. What happens is simply unexplainable. There was no tripping, no misstep, no sudden moment of surprise...just a simple slip through the fingers and SPLAT. All over the new carpet. A million things ran through my head. What do I do??? Do I stoop to clean up the mess and make it known that I was the first person to plant a huge dark brown stain on our new workspace? Do I walk away like a shmuck as if it never happened? This was the very first day in our new office. I knew at that very moment that the dark brown stain will haunt me for a long time. I kept walking and went straight for the bathroom, grabbing some paper towels, ready to sop up the mess I made, which made me a little late picking up the rest of our people in our vanpool.
As if that wasn't bad enough I was driving the red Toyota home, feeling relieved that we had gotten through our little rough patch that spanned the last several months when the speedometer suddenly began bouncing around...seemingly possessed, and went from zero to sixty to forty-five, to zero, to thirty-five and back to zero in about 3.248 seconds. I estimated myself at going about a steady 55 miles per hour at the time of this occurrence. Why this the truck decided to pull an Exorcist move on the speedometer at 296,282 miles is a mystery to me. It didn't happen to Casey. Ever. Things like that don't happen to guys...especially with their beloved trucks. This is a common crux for women. Something goes awry with a vehicle and then when the guy goes to look at it, it is perfectly fine. He walks around the vehicle shaking his head while the vehicle in question just sits there, mocking you in a silence that is so deafening you can't help but wonder how said guy is so oblivious to what is going on. What's worse is the guy gets in the vehicle one more time to make sure you aren't crazy and you look onward as that mocking pile of crap does a victory lap as it hammers the final nail in the coffin on calling your bluff. No shimmies, no shakes, no sudden lurches forward...no crazy possessed speedometers...it "runs like a champ".
Fortunately modern technology has made several advances in the last number of years; one of which includes a camera phone. Since I live on a country highway where I pass approximately 3 people every week - if it's busy - I decided to whip out my camera phone and document this debacle for evidence.
As I pulled into our driveway, all evidence secured in my hand, I sent Casey a text message and told him the news. His response: "What did you do?"
Of course it had to be my fault...
"Nothing," I replied. He has yet to look at it. He has been so excited about looking at a truck he has had his eye on for some time now. Almost immediately after he got home we got back in the car and Googled our way to this person's house that lives...approximately 2 miles away if you were a bird. If you use Google maps, it takes you approximately 22 miles (no exaggeration) out of the way, when you really could have driven 6 miles. Good 'ole Google.
In any event, with Casey being so excited about this truck I was shocked when he offered to let me drive it while we were testing it out. I agreed, and slid over the bench seat, careful not to kick the shifter, and he climbed in the passenger seat. The seat was comfortable, the truck was red, it ran great, and my husband liked it. It was already a no brainer for me. As we drove back to the truck owner's house, we talked about what we would offer for it, and after some negotiating back and forth, we settled on a price. As we turned to leave, I went to grab the keys. They weren't in my purse. This is a common occurrence for me, and there is no need for panic. I usually absentmindedly stash them somewhere...but as I was feeling around in my pockets, I vaguely remembered that Casey had been so excited about looking at this truck that I was pretty sure he had just sauntered off toward the truck immediately when we got there, forgetting, perhaps, to hand me the keys. Could I really pin this one on him? Doubtful. I probably lost them. As I began somewhat more vigorously searching through my purse, all the while attempting to exhibit a calm demeanor, Casey asked me, "Did you lose the keys?"
"Um...well...I'm not really sure..." I replied. "Did you give them to me?"
"Yes..."
"I don't think you did," I whispered.
"I know I did!" He said.
"Well...shoot. Can you look at see if they are in the car?" I asked.
As Casey looked through the car and I started searching the ground where we had been walking, the owner of the truck came back out and asked, "Did you lose something?"
"We can't find the keys..." Casey said, "I think she lost them when we switched seats, so they may be on the road..." I swallowed the words that were ready to tell Casey that I hadn't gotten out of the truck - I had just slid across the seat. We had already searched the truck, and no keys were nowhere to be found. The truck owner offered to drive Casey to where we had switched spots and about 10 minutes later (10 minutes of me scouring the ground), Casey showed up with our keys.
"Did you find them?" I asked.
"Yeah, they were on the road," Casey replied. I was relieved.
"Oh phew. I was getting worried," I said, and we got in the car and headed home.
"You know...you were right." Casey said.
"Right about what?" I asked.
"I didn't give you the keys...I dropped them. I remembered that when we found the keys."
"It's okay...you were excited." I said, "They're just a little...gravely..."
"Yeah, I may have dropped them but you ran over them...It's amazing the key fab still works," he chuckled.
"Wow, and the key wasn't bent! That's actually quite a victory for us!" I exclaimed.
Today I was lucky enough to drive the Toyota to the vanpool meeting place, and without incident, I might add. This was a welcome change as I was thoroughly convinced throughout the entire winter that it was somehow possessed as it made several attempts on my life over the last six months.
The day went rather smoothly for a Monday until it was time to pack up and go home. We moved into a new office...it is beautiful. State of the art. As I was carrying my coffee cup to the kitchen something happened that can only be described in my family as a Jenny Moment. Like any Jenny Moment there is no explanation. There is no reason. There is no logic. What happens is simply unexplainable. There was no tripping, no misstep, no sudden moment of surprise...just a simple slip through the fingers and SPLAT. All over the new carpet. A million things ran through my head. What do I do??? Do I stoop to clean up the mess and make it known that I was the first person to plant a huge dark brown stain on our new workspace? Do I walk away like a shmuck as if it never happened? This was the very first day in our new office. I knew at that very moment that the dark brown stain will haunt me for a long time. I kept walking and went straight for the bathroom, grabbing some paper towels, ready to sop up the mess I made, which made me a little late picking up the rest of our people in our vanpool.
As if that wasn't bad enough I was driving the red Toyota home, feeling relieved that we had gotten through our little rough patch that spanned the last several months when the speedometer suddenly began bouncing around...seemingly possessed, and went from zero to sixty to forty-five, to zero, to thirty-five and back to zero in about 3.248 seconds. I estimated myself at going about a steady 55 miles per hour at the time of this occurrence. Why this the truck decided to pull an Exorcist move on the speedometer at 296,282 miles is a mystery to me. It didn't happen to Casey. Ever. Things like that don't happen to guys...especially with their beloved trucks. This is a common crux for women. Something goes awry with a vehicle and then when the guy goes to look at it, it is perfectly fine. He walks around the vehicle shaking his head while the vehicle in question just sits there, mocking you in a silence that is so deafening you can't help but wonder how said guy is so oblivious to what is going on. What's worse is the guy gets in the vehicle one more time to make sure you aren't crazy and you look onward as that mocking pile of crap does a victory lap as it hammers the final nail in the coffin on calling your bluff. No shimmies, no shakes, no sudden lurches forward...no crazy possessed speedometers...it "runs like a champ".
Fortunately modern technology has made several advances in the last number of years; one of which includes a camera phone. Since I live on a country highway where I pass approximately 3 people every week - if it's busy - I decided to whip out my camera phone and document this debacle for evidence.
As I pulled into our driveway, all evidence secured in my hand, I sent Casey a text message and told him the news. His response: "What did you do?"
Of course it had to be my fault...
"Nothing," I replied. He has yet to look at it. He has been so excited about looking at a truck he has had his eye on for some time now. Almost immediately after he got home we got back in the car and Googled our way to this person's house that lives...approximately 2 miles away if you were a bird. If you use Google maps, it takes you approximately 22 miles (no exaggeration) out of the way, when you really could have driven 6 miles. Good 'ole Google.
In any event, with Casey being so excited about this truck I was shocked when he offered to let me drive it while we were testing it out. I agreed, and slid over the bench seat, careful not to kick the shifter, and he climbed in the passenger seat. The seat was comfortable, the truck was red, it ran great, and my husband liked it. It was already a no brainer for me. As we drove back to the truck owner's house, we talked about what we would offer for it, and after some negotiating back and forth, we settled on a price. As we turned to leave, I went to grab the keys. They weren't in my purse. This is a common occurrence for me, and there is no need for panic. I usually absentmindedly stash them somewhere...but as I was feeling around in my pockets, I vaguely remembered that Casey had been so excited about looking at this truck that I was pretty sure he had just sauntered off toward the truck immediately when we got there, forgetting, perhaps, to hand me the keys. Could I really pin this one on him? Doubtful. I probably lost them. As I began somewhat more vigorously searching through my purse, all the while attempting to exhibit a calm demeanor, Casey asked me, "Did you lose the keys?"
"Um...well...I'm not really sure..." I replied. "Did you give them to me?"
"Yes..."
"I don't think you did," I whispered.
"I know I did!" He said.
"Well...shoot. Can you look at see if they are in the car?" I asked.
As Casey looked through the car and I started searching the ground where we had been walking, the owner of the truck came back out and asked, "Did you lose something?"
"We can't find the keys..." Casey said, "I think she lost them when we switched seats, so they may be on the road..." I swallowed the words that were ready to tell Casey that I hadn't gotten out of the truck - I had just slid across the seat. We had already searched the truck, and no keys were nowhere to be found. The truck owner offered to drive Casey to where we had switched spots and about 10 minutes later (10 minutes of me scouring the ground), Casey showed up with our keys.
"Did you find them?" I asked.
"Yeah, they were on the road," Casey replied. I was relieved.
"Oh phew. I was getting worried," I said, and we got in the car and headed home.
"You know...you were right." Casey said.
"Right about what?" I asked.
"I didn't give you the keys...I dropped them. I remembered that when we found the keys."
"It's okay...you were excited." I said, "They're just a little...gravely..."
"Yeah, I may have dropped them but you ran over them...It's amazing the key fab still works," he chuckled.
"Wow, and the key wasn't bent! That's actually quite a victory for us!" I exclaimed.
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