Friday, January 21, 2011
The Pit Stop
I told him, I did. While we were still in Plentywood, late at night on the way home from a hard day's work, I did indeed mention that I was in rather strait need of a facility. A washroom. Los banos.
Apparently distracted, Jack left town without helping me out. Determined to persevere, I clenched my teeth and held on. Only 24 miles to go! The weather was pretty bad, so we weren't able to travel very fast, but still I held on. Up and down the hills, through the storm, I held on.
At last I decided that if home was more than about 3 miles away, I was going to have to ask Jack to stop, and expose certain pink skin to wind chills of about -25F.
After forever and a half, we came upon the next mile marker: 9. We had come only nine interminable miles. Great. Even after I told Jack I had to stop, oh, approximately now!!! he kept going several more miles, past perfectly good side roads. I was fair perishing by the time he finally turned off the highway.
Relief was almost within my grasp when Jack gently eased the car to the edge of the road. Suddenly, with a horrible sucking sound, an evil ditch genie ate almost half the SUV. Of course that whole stuck thingy was the main thing on Jack's mind, but I still had only one thing on mine.
Climbing precariously up the steep slope and out the driver's door, since that seemed faster than jumping out my window and wading through almost 4 feet of snow, I got right down to brass tacks. It's amazing how little you notice the biting north wind on your gluteus when the situation has reached that level of desperation. But you'll probably want to just take my word for that.
How bad are the ditches here right now? Well, today Jack scared a deer along the road, and in fright it leaped into the ditch...plunging in up to its neck.
John John's Tow Service was called into action once more. (The poor fellow was sick, so I'm going to have to make extra banana bread now.) First he pulled us frontways, but we were only going deeper into the ditch genie's maw, so he tried backways. It took a bit, and stuff (like me) got thrown all around the car, but we made it out.
Now Jack calls me his little P. P. Princess. I just smile and think to myself, "You drove into the ditch." But I don't say it. I'm far more dignified than that. And besides, if I did, I know he would remind me of why he was stopping. I think that makes it a draw.
Cutting a wide swath,