Mischances and Mishaps

For Mischances and Mishaps (and Further Adventure), All You Need is A Great Big Old Ugly Orange Dented Railroad Truck

Once upon a time,

(once a pond a time)…during the last month, my daughter moved into her own apartment.  Well, her own apartment…with roommates.  Much different from living with parents, siblings, or other relatives.  No sooner had she staked her domestic claim than she began to think of furnishings.  Giddy with autonomy, she and her new roommates rummaged the local thrift store.  They found a couch, soft and comfy, reminding them of grandmas (when I saw it, I realized that 80’s means grandma to them).  And a table, painted bright blue (someone’s previous repurpose).  And chairs (blue too).  All for under $100.  And my daughter remembered her parents telling her, when a for-real launch was still just a pigment of everyone’s imagination, that they would love to help her settle in.  So she texted her father to exact her share of the parental promise.

Her father would be Frank.

Who said to me, the mother, once he’d read and correctly interpreted the text (Michaelyn was way excited about the couch), “We’ll just take the truck and Nora and the dog, throw a bed in the back, and head down there to help her out.”

And I said, “Yes!  A perfect Saturday adventure!  One hundred four degrees, no air conditioning, and we’ll probably break down on the freeway (unabashed foreshadowing)!  Let’s go, babe!”

Whereupon we both laughed.  Laughter, I’ve read, helps you bond (waiting in dentist/orthodontist offices, I read quality periodicals, which is why I’m such an expert on bonding and so intent on finding the perfect red lipstick).  Still feeling lighthearted, I buckled Nora in the back seat of our crew cab monstrosity, wrapped my fingers tightly through Mimsy’s collar and leash (Mimsy is the dog), and settled on the dusty front seat next to Frank.  The drooping ceiling upholstery sifted unknown particles onto my favorite shapeless hole riddled hat; Mimsy perched (wriggling) in a cloud of shedding polka dot fur on my lap.

(As we drove through town and out onto the freeway with the windows rolled down, I was totally aware of how…ungentrified we looked. Mimsy’s tongue was just about everywhere; it has amazing, outlandish dimensions).

I had forgotten about mischances and mishaps.  Thinking that was all for laughs.

So.  Drenched with sweat and possibly dog saliva, we eventually arrived.  Collecting the thrifted purchases and moving them into Michaelyn’s apartment went uneventfully enough.  A couple of trips to and from the thrift store, up and down the stairs with furniture.  An elated oldest daughter, happy roommates, a curious dog (who stuck her nose in a mysterious corner outside and was bitten by something that liked living in mysterious corners…not sure what, since it was so mysterious).  A trio of very thirsty travelers (Nora was patient though). We bid Michaelyn and her happy roommates adieu and headed home. Stopping first at a 7-11 for sparkly, slushy, sweet refreshment…totally, totally decadent…but necessary.  104 degrees, remember…and no air conditioning.

And back on the freeway, the truck broke down.  Just…stopped. In the midst of overpasses and on and off ramps, cars whizzing by, tall cement buildings impassive and uncaring in the near distance.  Heat rippling on the pavement.  Yikes!

We held our breath, made a wish, said a prayer.  And Frank popped the hood (to grasp the significance of this man rite,  I recommend a careful reading of Patrick McManus’s “The Good Samaritan Strikes Again”).  Thankfully, Frank doesn’t just look under hoods to appear mechanical and manly.  He is mechanical and manly.  It took a couple of iterations of under-the-hood meditation, but eventually (light-bulb!!) the truth of the truck matter struck.  After a little tweaking and some team plays (ok, when I wave, rev the engine!), we were rolling again.

It felt like a narrow escape.  We said another prayer as we rumbled on, grateful this time.

The End.  Not of mischances and mishaps altogether, but of this one in particular.  Because we did make it home.  Sweaty, thirsty, safe.  We lived to tell this tale, and wait eagerly for the next one.

Hick Chic…

Not too bad, considering locale (thrift store, dumpster), company (actually the dog is a deVille-esque fashion asset; how eclectic of us), meteorological conditions, perspiration, no makeup, and holey hat.