Yesterday, after my part time job, I went to the Personal History luncheon, which we hold once a month. I took the ugly salad on my cookbook site and Sarah had made candied yams and everyone else brought desserts, which is just about right.
After taking my 96 year old friend, Mona, home, I hightailed it to Smith's because it was the last day of their case lot sale. (See yesterday's post.) After I was finished shopping I started the car...almost. It was doing it's Clown Car antics. Tried again, nothing. So I did what I always do in any bad situation. I call Phil. He is my "voice of reason." I knew he couldn't help but I called him anyway. He told me it was probably flooded and to just let it sit for a while and then try again.
So, I went to Sally's Beauty Supply and looked at all the fingernail stuff for 20 minutes and then I went to Tuesday Morning and looked at all the stuff that is supposed to be terrific bargains but just seems like a bunch of junk, with some good stuff mixed in. All of it was higher priced than I think it should be, but I spent a good half hour or so and then I left and thought I'd try to start the Clown Car again.
Just outside of Tuesday Morning I met Taylor, my son. "Oh, Mom," he said, "you're all right." And then he gave me the biggest hug. It was worth an hour of inconvenience to get a hug like that.
"We've called and called you."
And so I looked at my phone and there were 17 missed phone calls, from him and Phil. (I had the phone on vibrate at work and hadn't changed it.) I also had a bunch of texts that said things like, "Are you okay?" "Where are you?" "WHERE ARE YOU?!?"
Both Phil and Taylor had come to my rescue.
The car started right up.
Taylor rode home with me to make sure I was all right.
Phil followed us to make sure the car wouldn't quit on me.
I must be loved.