Adventures

I should have known better to plan a trip into town. Every time I venture outside the secure confines of my home, Fate strikes swiftly, squishing me like an ant under its giant thumb. My boys have been victims on more than one occasion, and it's like a scene from Animal Planet as I herd them, unwillingly into the Jimmy. I never realized how serious it was until I once heard my toddler ask my oldest if he had insurance as we left the drive and headed toward town. To date, we've:

1. Had a turkey stolen out of the Dodge Ram we used to have.

2. Broken down in the Ram in the center of a very busy street.

3. Been hit in the store by elderly people on scooters.

4. Had a store display fall on us. (Luckily it was toilet paper)

We reached Target unscathed, and scurried like cockroaches across the parking lot to the safety of the store. For once, nothing traumatic happened, and we merrily walked back to the truck celebrating our inexpensive booty of school supplies.

Yes! One more stop and then we'll be home; finally, a normal trip. I was "counting my chickens before they hatched." I should have known, given our "track record" something was bound to happen, and something did.

I stopped at the local grocery for decongestant. Finding they were out, the boys and I left the store and decided to ckeck at Wal-Mart. I got in the truck, and my door wouldn't close. "That's strange," I told Seth. Bewildered, I got out of the truck and examined the door. What I saw made my blood pressure skyrocket; there, in the middle of the driver's door was a cantaloupe-sized dent. There was no note, no apology, on my windshield. There are few things that make me truly angry: someone intentionally hurting my family and friends, and someone damaging my property and not admitting it. Seething with barely contained rage, I got the boys out of the truck and marched back into the store, where I asked the manager to allow me to see the video of the parking lot.

"We don't have that, madam," he replied cooly. "It's not necessary." I stared at the manager blankly, and gaped at him like a fish out of water.

They have cameras all over the store to catch shoplifters, but let something occur in the parking lot, and they don't care. Lovely, I could have the crap beaten out of me, or raped out there, and they wouldn't see it as their problem, I thought sourly. Walking like I had a corn cob shoved up my hindparts, I stormed over to the customer service desk and used their phone.

Let them try and stop me from using the phone, and I'll give someone such as wedgie, I fumed. I told John what happened, and we agreed to meet in the parking lot in half an hour. The kids were begging for snacks, so I shopped while I waited. As I shopped, I calmed down, and entertained my oldest, whose face was drooping worse than a Bassett Hound's, with sarcastic humor.

I told him I wanted to jump in the cherry bin, and pelt passersby with the luscious fruit while screaming, "Who hit my truck?! Somebody better confess or else everyone will be picking pits out of their hair."

We finally got through with our shopping, and met John in the parking lot. He fixed the door--the lock was off--and we journeyed home without incident. As the days pass, I see the humor in it. Every day is literally an adventure for me. . .wanna come along?