Today’s post has a theme. Ten American dollars to the last person to guess what it is!
(I should probably mention that I never come through on my promises and I don’t have ten dollars...and the theme is close calls.)
Close Call #1
I came very close to spreading a fair amount of negativity around the blogosphere yesterday afternoon (this was a couple of hours before I posted that little ball of sunshine I trust you all read and shared with your friends and family.) Luckily, before I was able to publish the original post, Gary swooped in, shook me by the shoulders and screamed, “EMILY, THIS ISN’T YOU! I KNOW THE LIGHTHEARTED, UPBEAT GIRL I MARRIED IS STILL IN THERE SOMEWHERE! Now you erase that post and YOU ERASE IT GOOD.”
So I did. And along the way I learned a valuable lesson. For whatever reason, it seems that when I’m going for brevity, I tend to overshoot and land somewhere around another “b” word.
Alright. Lesson learned. ON TO THE NEXT!
Close Call #2
Gary called to tell me he wouldn’t be able to make it home for lunch today and to ask if I’d go let Brutus out. Usually he stays outside on his running line while we’re at work, but he’s confined to the indoors except to “eliminate” for ten days, doctor’s orders. I’m a good wife and dogmother, so I said I’d do it. I grabbed Sarah’s keys from her and set out to deliver some relief. (Oh you all know Sarah, right? My unpaid personal chauffeur? She’s been hauling me around everywhere since Gary and I became a one truck family. I wanted to get her one of those little hats, but she threatened to break my legs and make me walk. By the way Sarah, THAT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE ANY SENSE.)
Anyway, as I was pulling out of the parking lot, I noticed the gas light was on. I thought to myself, “Maybe it just came on. I’ll be fine.” That’s when I remembered a little conversation Sarah and I'd had earlier this morning about how, “we’ll be lucky to get to work without stopping for gas, and we definitely won’t make it back home.”
Now I’d like to take you on a little tour of my brain for the twenty or so minutes that followed.
Well, at least I have my wallet. I’ll just stop and fill it up myself – oh.....wait.
Well, at least I have my cell phone. If I run out of gas, I’ll just call someone to come get me – oh.....shoot.
Well, at least I have my drivers license so that when Sarah’s car stops in the middle of a busy intersection, I won’t get a ticket for driving illegally – ohhhhhhhh..............eff.
Come on car. Come on. Just let me get home.
Oh also if I could get back to work that would be great.
MADE IT TO MY HOUSE! WE'RE HALFWAY THERE!
There you go Bru, go on about your business.
Ok come back inside! No, no don’t run! DON’T RUN! YOU’LL RIP OUT YOUR STITCHES!
Alright Em...no need to panic...Brutus is in his kennel, and the distractions seem to be working. He’s too busy with the milk bone to realize you’re leaving yet...now all you have to do is close the gate as quietly as possible, tiptoe across the living room, lock the front door, and....RUN! RUN! GET OUT OF THERE BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE! You know if he starts crying you’ll never escape with your conscience in tact!
Alright car. We can do this. It’s only 6 blocks.
We just have to make it over this hill. WE’RE SO CLOSE!!!
(Squinting) What does that bumper sticker say?
“PRAIRIE DOG TOWN – Oakley, Kansas”
Huh. Of all the hundreds of thousands of bumper sticker choices available – I Hate the President, Make Love Not War, Jesus Was A Liberal, My Pit Bull Is Smarter than Your Honor Roll Student – you chose to go with PRAIRIE DOG TOWN.
By the time I'd finished wondering what that person’s life must be like, I realized I had pulled safely into a parking spot at work. SUCCESS! I jumped out of the car, kissed the ground, and did cartwheels all the way back to my desk, where I googled Prairie Dog Town and subsequently vomited in my hand.