WANTED - Dead or Alive!

Rise, if you can believe that anyone heading south to beach and sun, would forget to pack a swimsuit, did. Forget to pack a swimsuit.

So one of our first gadabout adventures was a shopping trip. We had something frivolous in mind. In hot pink, or neon orange, or lime green. Sizzling. Tropical.

Store #1---nothing.
Store #2---nada.
Store #3---nulla.
Store #4---zero.
Store #5---zilch.

So we headed glumly to store #6. Which neccessitated crossing to the other side of the highway. The usual route was blocked by construction. Plan B was implemented. Drive to the light. Execute a U-turn. Wait patiently at the red. Then slowly, when it is safe to do so, make the u-turn.

"Are you allowed to do that?" enquires Rise, ever in search of knowledge.

"I think it's okay. Though now that you ask, I'm not a hundred percent sure."

We were about to find out. Shall I even bother to continue?

Bright red and blue lights were suddenly flashing in my rear view mirror. Simultaneously, a horrible sinking feeling settled in my gut.

"Rise," I whispered hoarsely. "There's a cop behind us. He's not coming after us, surely?"

He made no motion to pass, only came closer and closer. My gut was quaking now with dread. I pulled over on the shoulder. The last vestige of doubt evaporated as he tucked himself in neatly behind me.

A burly young whippersnapper got out. A well-fed representative of The LAW.

"You're being pulled over for executing an illegal u-turn back there ma'am," the young whippersnapper growled when he reached my window.

I babbled piteously. Something about the construction and the road that I normally use being blocked.

"Yes ma'am. Too many people have been making illegal turns at this intersection. We've had too many accidents. We have to crack down."
On the criminal element, who are causing mayhem in their quest for beauteous garments with which to disport their aged bones on the beach.

There are crack dealers out there.
Breakers and enterers.
Arsonists.
Crazed lunatics holding up terrified bank tellers at gunpoint.
Abductors of innocent children.
Murderers.
Rapists.
Dirty old men exposing their parts to unsuspecting virgins.

But, no. It was the last day of the month. Have to make our quota. Today, men, we're out to make the fastest buck we can. The honour of the Sherrif's Office rests on your shoulders.
Shake Joe and Josephine Ordinary Citizen out of their complacency.
Never mind the fellow speeding through the red light.
Never mind the guy holding up the bank.
See that woman in the green Ford? Making, nay,executing, a u-turn?She's the one we want. The criminal element, with the silvery hair and the shifty eyes.

"Nab her, boys!
What do you think the taxpayers are paying you for?
Huh?
To sit around eating donuts all day?
Hell, no!
We need to stamp out crime!
And we need to start at this intersection!"

"I don't suppose you could let me off with just a warning?" I ventured meekly.

"Sorry ma'am. You broke the law. "
I'm not feeling merciful today.
My groin itches.
Besides, you're not blonde, twenty, or buxom.

If ever I wished to be blonde, twenty, or buxom, this was the hour. This was the day.

"Your license and registration, ma'am?" he said, holding out a meaty paw.

I fumbled in my purse.
I rummaged in the glove compartment.
Thinking mutinous thoughts.

Produced the required documents. Proof that the shifty-eyed, menace-to-society look was just a halloween costume, getting an early airing.

"Wait here, ma'am."

Leaves us stewing in our own sweat while he returns to his vehicle.
To investigate my criminal history.

Fifteen long minutes later [they must have ALL the dirt on me], he swaggers to my window, again. He looks like he played football in high school. He looks like that wasn't very long ago. Like he only has to shave once a week. But he's got the disapproving frown down pat.

"Here's your citation, ma'am. You have thirty days to blah, blah, blah di blah....." He droned on.

I sat meekly.
Rise, mute beside me, exuded sympathy.

The final outrage?

"Have a good day, ma'am!"

"You too," I mumbled, insincerely.
And may a swarm of sticky lovebugs infest your windshield.
And may your groin continue to itch.
And may they be out of French cruellers when next you stop at the donut shop. And.....but never mind.

I was wrong.
I broke the law.
And now I have to pay.
Ochone, Ochone!

We did find a swimsuit, when we crept fearfully to store # 6.
A sober little black number.
A fitting choice.

Real Women.........

This is giving me bloggers block!

Its not that I don't have ideas, I do. But maybe that's too raw; or this is too emotional; or that's way more of me than I'm willing to put out there; or, or, or!

"So, do it already," my brain has been impatiently nagging. Finally, I came to the conclusion that all the things I've considered would be covered by this:

Real women......are not afraid to let their imperfections show.

I tag Tanya Brown, Riseoutofme and Meggie.


No prizes for guessing which one is me in the picture above.....

And now, for your viewing pleasure....or maybe not....

Twenty past eight on Monday night and I'm blogging. I love to blog. But not between eight and nine on a Monday evening. Because that's when I watch Prison Break. Or should I say that's when I would like to watch Prison Break . On Tuesday night its Gilmore Girls. Then I'm done for the week. Two shows. With some weather and news thrown in along the way.

As the clock crept towards eight, I downed tools, went and sat on the couch and picked up the black remote from the coffee table. Clicked the red button that usually turns the infernal machine on. The screen turned bright blue, but remained blank. Oh-oh. We'd had it set for a video over the weekend. And this was the first time I'd turned it on today. Not a good omen. Me and things electronic do not get along. Especially since we moved here. At which time the OC updated his equipment........electronic that is...... But I don't cave without a fight.

Before going into full battle mode I had to fortify myself. Briefly considered opening the half bottle of wine that lay in the fridge and chugging it. But settled instead for a cup of industrial strength tea.......No lily-livered Lipton's for me, but a cup of robust, steaming Barry's. When the going gets tough the Irish crave tea. [Ok, ok, some of them crave whiskey too!]

Thus fortified, I approached the coffee table again. And cast a jaundiced eye on the remotes lying there. All four of them. And two more on top of the T.V. Six altogether. One of them had to have a magic button that would solve my problem. So I started pressing. I pushed one that said "cable". Nothing. I pushed "tv", "info", "menu". Nothing, nothing, nothing. I pressed "cable" again, "guide", channel buttons, volume buttons, "setup". Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. N.O.T.H.I.N.G!!!! The blasted T.V. just sat there, looking inscrutable, while my blood pressure rose. I would have taken pleasure in smashing something hard and metallic through it, like a frying pan. But I refrained.

For someone who should have been born in the 1800's, I think I manage remarkably well in the modern world. I can drive a car, a stick shift at that. I can operate all kinds of electrical appliances from a toaster to a sewing machine, and beyond. I recently even learned how to operate a food processor without mincing my fingers. And coffee? I can use a grinder with the best of them. But a television set? Floors me.

I've been in this situation before. One memorable night, when the YS was still in high school, he and the OC went to watch a soccer match at the school, leaving me the luxury of watching Gilmore Girls, undisturbed. IF I'd been able to turn the blasted thing on. I ended up, instead, whimpering on the couch until they returned. And with deft flicks of their male wrists brought the infernal machine roaring to noisy life. Showoffs.

To my way of thinking progress should, by definition, make life simpler. What is simple about a stable of six remotes? I have the solution. Never mind the complicated inventions of the gadget-crazed male segment of the population. What about this for a radical breakthrough----One remote. Two buttons. One turns the Blasted Thing on. The other turns the Blasted Thing off. Stunning in its simplicity, don't you agree?

At ten past nine the phone rang. The daily call from the OC. After hearing my tale of woe he told me that I could stop pouting. Prison Break wasn't even on tonight! Not until next week........Ooh. In the immortal words of Emily Latella*, delivered with her best SEG-------"Never mind."

But what about Gilmore Girls tomorrow night??


*Gilda Radner in the early days of Saturday Night Live.

Partial Place Setting ---On Hwy 19

After a particularly bad week recently, I was driving down our local main thoroughfare, en route to the in-laws for the daily visit. Minding my own business, observing the speed limit, watching the road. But for all the watching, I never saw it. Just suddenly heard a loud "Bang!" Momentary panic! Was that ME? A quick glance in my rear view mirror revealed nothing unusual . Nothing behind me had burst into flames. Other drivers seemed unconcerned. The universe seemed to be unfolding according to plan.

I slowed and made the turn into the filling station. My tank was low. Filled it up. Paid. Adjusted my mileage meter. And started her up again. Oh-Oh. Now what? Something was definitely amiss. Heart in mouth, I got out to have a look. But sometimes you just know. Even when you're as mechanically clueless as I. And sure enough, the tire on the back right side was looking pathetically soft, well on it's way to flat-as-a-pancake. Groan.

Sat back in and gingerly moved the car to the side. Tried to take some deep breaths and gather my few remaining, scattered wits. Life is such a bully. Let's kick her while she's down. And keep kicking. Thank God for AAA and cell phones. The OC may not be here, but he left some capable sitters on call. Endured the thousand questions from the AAA lady, including [my favourite!]---"Are you calling from a cell phone or your house phone?" Tempted to answer "Oh yes. I'm just relaxing here in my easy chair. Nothing interesting on the telly. Just finished the last chocolate in the box. Calling AAA just for grins seemed like as good a way as any to alleviate my boredom." But I didn't. I knew which side my bread was buttered on. This woman had my life in her hands. I didn't want to give her any reason to make it even more unpleasant. So I was excruciatingly polite, and bit back anything that might have been construed as sarcasm.

In less than twenty minutes a tow truck arrived and a cheerful young man removed the offending tire and mounted the spare, and I was on my way. To the garage. Where the cause of the flat was discovered. The mechanic showed me a glint of metal. Morbid curiousity. I asked if he could pull it out to see what it was, since they were telling me it had caused enough damage that I'd need a new tire. He got some pliers and pulled. One inch, two inches, three inches, four inches. At four and a half inches it was finally out. The handle of a piece of sturdy cutlery. A tablespoon maybe, or a fork. Must have fallen off the back of a redneckmobile. Wish they'd keep their *#!#!%! cutlery in their kitchens!