It’s becoming increasingly apparent that I should not be allowed outside of Portage la Prairie unsupervised.
I could have had my husband drive me to my two doctor appointments in Winnipeg, but sometimes a gal needs to pull up her big-girl unmentionables and be independent. Besides, both doctors work in the same building and the ophthalmologist’s office assured me that, even though they’d be dilating my pupils, my vision would be fine for driving by the time I finished meeting with my respirologist.
They were wrong.
|Less than ideal for driving when this is what you see.|
It was rush hour and dark by the time I exited the parkade. An enormous starburst surrounded every light. Multiplied by hundreds of taillights, street lights, stop lights, and head lights, it was all very pretty but not exactly conducive to stellar driving. I made it to Polo Park where I thought I’d relax while my vision cleared and traffic dispersed.
I bought a cookie and some tea and sat amid the pre-Christmas crowds. Maybe one of those flash mobs would break out and I could pretend to be part of it.
With the first attempt at sipping my tea, I let out a yelp. I hadn’t fastened the lid properly and scalding tea drenched my sweater and lap. I mopped up with a serviette, but given that my stomach was now burnt and my pants looked suspiciously like I’d peed myself, I was in no mood for shopping or relaxing or flash mobs.
Back in my car, I placed a cold water bottle under my sweater to soothe my skin before setting out for home. My vision was still blurry and I briefly pondered what sort of conclusions the ambulance drivers would draw when they discovered a water bottle under my sweater.
But I made it home.
The next day, I didn’t even make it out of Portage before chaos found me. With my car booked into the shop for maintenance, I needed to take hubby’s truck to my hair appointment north of Bagot.
“Fill it with gas first,” he told me.
Neither of us realized the gas gauge was kaput. On my way to the filling station, I ran out of fuel at the corner of 8th and Lorne. I tried to call hubby but got his voice mail, not that he could do much anyway with no vehicle. Meanwhile, drivers were wondering who the dipstick was sitting still at a four-way stop.
I called CAA.
“Sure, we’ll bring you some gas,” they said. I was talking on the cell phone with one hand while trying to wave vehicles around me with the other. Anybody who knows me knows I can barely talk on the phone and blink at the same time, never mind direct traffic. My arms kept flailing. I think I rerouted a few drivers to Fargo.
Meanwhile, CAA was asking personal and complicated questions like what was the make, model, and year of my vehicle? Apparently, burgundy is not a model.
When a friendly hero approached offering to push my truck to the side, I told the nosey CAA people to never mind.
Some really strong people then pushed my truck out of everyone’s way (thanks, if you’re reading this!) just before hubby returned my call. He eventually arrived with a can of gas, I filled up and made it to my gracious hair dresser much later than scheduled.
When I tried to leave afterwards, my tires spun so I put the truck in 4-wheel drive to get going and then (I thought) put it back in 2-wheel drive. It wasn’t until the next morning I learned I’d driven the 25 highway kilometers in 4-Low and it was, apparently, a miracle I didn’t wreck the engine.
At least my hair looked great.
For 2015, I should probably resolve to stay home and read books. I finished 52 books in 2014 and could read twice as many if I quit running around and getting into trouble. But then what would I write? Book reviews?