Life’s sunny hours flit by,
Enjoy them as they fly !
The wind had nearly lifted the house off it’s foundation and sent us with Dorothy to Oz as we laid in be last night. When I rolled out of bed this morning, I half expected to be surrounded by munchkins singing about some kid with a lollipop while our house sat on a dead witch.
My feet hit the tightly knit carpet, and I shuffled to the bathroom to brush my teeth, take a leak, shower and shave, and pull a random pair of pants and shirt out of the closet to wear to work.
Fashion is not really at the top of my priorities. Jeans and superhero T-shirts are my faves. But on a normal work day, a button up and pair of Dockers are the norm. Typically, I leave the tie on the rack. I’m a teacher, thus in the trenches of education. And ties aren’t appropriate in the trenches.
And I hate having a tight collar around my neck. Comfort is more important than style. I do, however, occasionally wear the never-out-of-style bow tie. It looks good… and if I am eating soup, there is no danger of the tie being dipped into a bowl of chili. So it is a practical piece of attire.
Having cleaned, showered, shaved, brushed my teeth, and taken a leak, not necessarily in that order, I step out of the bathroom and make the bed. It wouldn’t pass muster in the military, but the wife is pleased with my corners and tucks.
I head downstairs for the obligatory breakfast smoothie and cup of joe…. the smoothie to keep my girlish figure and the joe to rub the sand from my eyes. And to get breakfast for the kiddos.
All goes off without a hitch. The kids have Blue Berry Frosted Miniwheats and some other sugar laden cereal, I drink my smoothie without wearing it, and the wife packs lunches.
And as 7:25 rolls around, it’s time to journey out to slay the beast. Or teach high school.
Hugs, kisses, pats on the head (for the three beasts… er… dogs) and I plunge out the door into the windy, blustery February day.
In my hand I hold a coffee mug, and in my backpack is a travel coffee mug to keep a Venti’s worth of the elixir hot and ready for consumption. In front of the house is a gate that needs opened before we can leave in a vehicle. Because, you know, if the gate isn’t open, our cars would be damaged. And the gate would be destroyed. And then our dogs would go into the road and get hit by a car and die. The gate really is the key to our life…
I bend down to unlatch and open the gate. About that time, there is a damp warmth spreading through my pants. It’s an odd feeling. And, for a moment, I think, perhaps, I have peed myself. Until I notice that, anatomically, it is impossible to pee yourself at your hip pocket.
Besides, the warmth is way hotter than urine.
As it so happens, my coffee tumbler, which is in my backpack side pocket, is not fully closed, so when I bent down to unlock the gate, the coffee spilled onto my pants and shoes.
Momentarily, there is a debate in my head… do I go ahead and go to work with wet pants, or do I change into dry pants. The debate lasts for about twenty seconds. My logical side wins, which is an odd occurrence, and I hurry back in the house to make a quick change.
I run upstairs, tear off my pants, toss on a new, stain free pair of pants, run downstairs, tear out the door, and hop in the Jeep. The Flash would have been jealous of my speed.
And then I go to find my keys.
They aren’t in my jacket pockets, the cup holder, or anywhere else I can see.
And my phone is missing.
So.. I jump out of the car, tear into the house, and hurdle up the stairs and begin a manic search for the missing items. After a few minutes, my hands are clutching my the phone and keys.
So… 15 minutes after I initially walked out the door, I pull out of the driveway, point the Jeep in the direction of work, and hit the gas.
And then the Low Fuel light turns on…
So it’s off to the gas station…
Which isn’t a terrible thing… there is a small little gas station near the house. I take a left off my road, and the gas station is in sight.
After throwing on the right blinker, I turn into the gas station…
And all four pumps are full… Of course… why would I expect one to be open???
And the most aggravating part of this is the fact that there is not a single person pumping gas. They are all inside, taking up precious pump space and, by proxy, precious moments of my already tight morning.
Seriously… I sat there for 5 minutes. And what is even more infuriating is the fact that there is a woman sitting in the passenger seat of one of the cars… staring at me.
Breathe in… breathe out… count to 10…
And wait. And wait. And wait. And…
Finally, a guy strolls out of the convenience store, gets in his car (and takes his time about it), and drives into his day.
Hitting the gas, I quickly pull up to the pump and hop out of the Jeep. The cold and the wind of the morning are biting; after quickly swiping my card and choosing my poison (87 octane), I jump in the car and warm up my hands as the wind whips around the Wrangler, while coming to terms with the fact that I’m going to be late for work this morning.
wait… wait… wait… wait…
Finally, with a thud, the pump stops and we are ready to roll.
I jump out of the car and replace the nozzle in its resting position, ensuring not to spill any drops of gas on the pavement, get back into the car and pull out of the gas station.
I turn Sirius to E Street Radio looking for Bruce to point me in the right direction. I smile.
My favorite song, Thunder Road, is pouring from the speakers.
Speeding up, I pull the shifter back to 6th gear and press the gas pedal to the floor as I merge onto I-81.
It’s going to be a good day.