Wear clothes

I am trying to squeeze something somewhat cheery out of what has been a sad and emotionally draining month. We lost a loved one, too young, and too suddenly, this month. Let's just say, last week was a bad week.

It was one of those weeks that is bad in that "when does the shoe drop" next way.

Monday started with Rowdy getting stung by a wasp. We were all in the pool, he was stung, it was terrifying because he is deathly allergic and it required much hurrying for benadryl, dry clothes and a trip to the ER for an adrenaline shot. This sort of thing is usually enough to make me want to go back to bed for a day or two, but then...near midnight...we got the really terrible news that makes everything else pale by comparison. A young girl, just 23, more like a daughter to me and a big sister to my kids...dies while going into surgery. Just. Shock.

So, the next day was mostly spent in bed. Crying, trying to comfort the kids, shakily helping with "plans" and willing Perfect Daughter to hurry home so all MY kids could be under one roof, healthy and together.

Day three. Perfect Daughter had spent the night with us and was off to work. Rowdy and Sweet Girl and I had a day planned in San Antonio, but were taking things slowly, because of course we were still living in that nightmare. Rowdy came into my bedroom at 8 am, and handed me the phone. Perfect Daughter's little car had blown a tire on I-10. That was our "what next"? I leaped up, still in my Texas Law huge t-shirt and workout pants that I had slept in. I grabbed the phone, ascertained that she was OK and just needed a ride to work and someone to wait for the tow, and DH and I were on our way in 10 minutes.

I don't think I washed my face. Pretty sure I didn't brush my teeth. After all, I only had to hand her keys to the tow truck driver, right?

We pulled up to Perfect Daughter looking perfectly glamourous by the side of the road and NO cute guys had stopped to help her. What is this world coming to? Her tire was shredded to the rim, so her dad decided to let it be towed by good ol' AAA, and off they went to their career-worlds in San Antonio. I stayed in my jammies by the side of the road in rural Texas. How long could it be? I calculated that I could be home and back in bed by 9.

By 8:45 Perfect Daughter called to tell me there was a problem. It seemed that while she was giving AAA directions to her car, in her zeal to give them the BEST directions in the world, she actually mentioned the exit she passed led to a highway to another town. The OTHER town's name was lodged in AAA's operator(s) head(s) and would not be budged.

"Mom", she said, "You might want to call them back and tell them you are NOT in town X, you are in Home Town.".

That seemed easy enough. It was just a reminder call, right?

I called, and AAA operator number 2 faithfully took down all the information.

Thirty minutes later, Perfect Daughter called to tell me that they STILL were headed to Town X Apparently, they had called to tell her they were on the way to Town X, which wasn't going to do jammied-me any good as Town X, even though its turn-off was a mile from me, was in actuality 50 miles away. AAA being in California had no idea where we were.

What about their maps, you ask? Yeah, we asked that too. I-10 doesn't go through Town X, so surely they would figure that out since they are the king of all things highway mapped.

Well, no.

DH heard Perfect Daughter's 30 minute conversation with the number one automobile service in America:

"No, I said I was at exit blank on I-10 heading east into San Antonio"
"Yes, that is the town I live in. Spelled blah, blah, blah,...no not THAT way"
"No, NOT Town X. That was just an exit"
"Yes, that is the town I live in. It is on my membership address. Spelled blah, blah, blah...no, let me spell it again"
"I-10 does not go through Town X"
"CAN I SPEAK TO A SUPERVISOR".

And so on. As DH was being entertained by all this, I was a)hot b)hungry and c) kind of mad. Ok, lots of mad. We were on INTERSTATE 10. We gave an EXIT NUMBER and direction. A martian could have found us. But not the auto club.

At 10 a.m., 2 hours after Perfect Daughter's first phone call, the wrecker showed up. He was a local guy, lived two miles away. Sheesh. Anyway, he asked me where I wanted it towed. I said, (of course, we live in small-town America)"Wal-Mart".

"Oh, I don't like Wal-Mart," he said, "How do you feel about WA Automotive?".

"Fine", I said, "They do sell tires, right?" He looked a little surprised after our talk of both being local home town sorts, but nodded.

"I'll meet you there".

I drove to WA Automotive and arrived at 10:10. Still in my jammies, but all I had to do was sign some papers, right? I waited for the truck to arrive, and suddenly I remembered.....

I had a 10:30 appointment with the tax office to protest my property taxes.

Gulp.

These appointments require that a) you show up or you HAVE to go to a formal hearing in front of a board later and b) you show up with paperwork demonstrating why you think your taxes haven't gone up.

I had the paperwork. Back home with my clean clothes and toothbrush.

There was nothing for it...I had to leave my post at WA Automotive with a quick, "I'll be back for the car" and scoot down Main Street to the tax office. I got there with one minute to spare.

I will say, when you arrive dressed like a homeless person, they DO tend to lower your taxes. So that went well.

Back to WA Automotive 30 minutes later and still no car. Hmmm. Could they have stolen a dented 2004 Kia Rio???

I called and found out they had gone to the one tire shop in all of Home Town. No wonder the driver squinted his eyes at me when I said, "They do sell tires, don't they?" It sounded like WA automotive....but it wasn't. I drove over there, now desperate to get home and wash up and look like a human.

And ran into a friend I hadn't seen in 10 years.

Hence, the title of this blog: Wear clothes. And...make-up.