After Atlanta Adventures

This is the epilogue to the “Our New Normal,” series. You can read the rest of the series here.

I write letters to Ellen DeGeneres. No particular reason. Just because I can.

Dear Ellen,

With both the cast and the x-rays finished, I packed up the car, preparing to drive Baby Girl home. But first there was one obstacle left. I needed air for my tire. I was fairly certain the culprit was the front, right tire. I hooked up the GPS and planned on getting back on I-20 (18 miles away) before trying to find a gas station. The roads were wet from the rain which made me very nervous because driving on wet roads with a tire that is low on air is not exactly ideal. I said a little prayer, started the car and drove until I was on I-20.

Fortunately the one thing major metropolitan areas are not short on are gas stations. I took the first exit that had a gas station sign and found a place for air. Since this wasn’t the first time I’ve had to put air in a tire, I was prepared for the fact that loose change was needed. I grabbed my stack of quarters and left the car. As it turns out, I had exactly the right amount of quarters. One by one, I put them into the slot. And then, the vacuum cleaner hose started vibrating.

 

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That’s right, Ellen. The vacuum cleaner hose. Apparently the air tank had a dual function. Putting quarters in one slot turned on the air. Putting quarters in the other slot, turned on the vacuum cleaner. And to top off the day I was having, management at this gas station did not receive the memo that under conditions of high stress and exhaustion, I can be a real idiot. Had they received the memo, I’m certain they would have placed sparkling arrows around the air slot to help me out.

 

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So here I was, at a gas station, and I used all of my quarters up for the vacuum cleaner.

And why the hell is there a vacuum cleaner at a gas station? That’s what a self-service car wash is for! The only thing that should be sold at a gas station is air!

 

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And probably gas. But mostly air because that’s what I needed for my tire. Then the rain started again. What was a drizzle was now a downpour. Baby Girl was sleeping and I did not want to lug her out of the car and take her inside the gas station to get more quarters. I decided to get back into the car and drive.

Eventually the rain stopped and I took another exit to try and put air in my tire. The street the gas station was on was a bit tricky. I needed to make a left turn into the parking lot and missed my chance. The gas station was on the corner of an intersection. I figured I would turn left at the light and then make another left into the gas station. I figured wrong. Ellen, you’ll be happy to know that this was an environmentally friendly gas station. The gas station put pretty green landscaping where there should have been a second entrance/exit. I kept driving.

By some strange luck – or misfortune – the street I was on was also the on-ramp for I-20. But it was one of those weird on-ramps that takes you through city streets before you actually merge back onto the freeway.

I found another gas station.

 

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This one was fancy too. The air tank was digital and accepted credit cards. Which would have been really exciting, had the air tank actually worked. When I ran my card and selected “air,” nothing happened. And I mean nothing. The damn tank didn’t work.

 

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At that point, I gave up and made the stupid decision to drive 100 miles home on a tire with low air. 

 

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Thankfully, Baby Girl and I made it home safely. My wonderful husband took the minivan to the gas station for air. As it turns out, it wasn’t just the front right tire that was low. All four tires were low which was good because it meant we didn’t have a leak or nail. 

Ellen, you’ll be happy to know that no tires or rims were damaged for the making of this blog. And now that we’re home, we’re all working to help Baby Girl get used to her cast. The four year old was disenchanted with the pink cast. She requested blue for the next color. The six year old doesn’t care what color the cast is as long as Baby Girl stays away from his trains. My husband and I are relieved that the baby has been adjusting quickly to her new accessory.

And then there’s Gwennie.

 

She’s offended that the last five blog posts have not been about her.

All last week she kept telling me the attention that the Daikini child was receiving was “utterly and completely nauseating.” I did I what I always do when my cat is acting like a drama queen. I ignored her.

Then one morning I crept downstairs to get some coffee before the kids woke up and found a massive amount of cat vomit spread out all over the area rug in the family room.

 

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I really wish whoever makes cat food would come up with a kibble that’s neutral colored instead of the bright yellow stuff that’s currently on the market. Anyway, since I didn’t heed Her-Royal-Fluffiness’ warnings, I decided I’d better cave and give her the spotlight for a while. Tune in next for Gwennie’s blog, Diary of a Cranky Cat. 

Sincerely,

A. Marie

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