So after yet another Saturday of rain, I was determined to get out on my bike, even if it were only for a moment.
And frankly, it’s a good thing that’s all I had.
After lunch, we all trooped into the car and headed down the street to the Christmas tree place. Tree selection this year was easy: first one we saw, we liked, and we were ready to head home. The problem was that we needed cash or a check, and had neither (stupid cashless economy! Make up your mind!). So My Beloved Man headed off with the Youngest Girl, who was in one of those moods where she didn’t want to be there, but didn’t want to be at home, but didn’t want to… and the only place nearby to get cash was a 7-11, and of course, My Man was convinced he was going to be fleeced blind by the cash machine there. So there was much fussing behind the scenes.
The tree was purchased and strapped to the car.
We climbed inside. From a bag on the seat, My Sweet Darling produced a beer for himself (for later, duh) and 3 chocolate bars for the kids. I looked in the bag. There was no Snapple. There was no fourth chocolate bar. I cleared my throat: “Ehem.”
My Sheepish Man said: “I was really mad about the cash machine and everything. I guess I forgot. Sorry.”
We drove home and managed to do a reasonable facsimile of this scene from A Christmas Story:
Crooked tree and wonky star in place, I needed a drink. It was obvious that in this cruel world, I was going to have to fend for myself (not even a chocolate bar!). So I hoped on The Raleigh and headed back to the 7-11. By this point, it was nearly 3:30. Within an hour I might as well try to ride in the middle of the night.
I decided to combat this problem by riding hard, right out of my front drive.
What a mistake that was! Within seconds I was wheezing and puffing like I was dying.
Recently, I seem to have developed some sort of endless sinus/bronchial thing that never quite blooms enough to warrant antibiotics and their attendant misery, but never quite goes away.
Anyway, I stopped after a few blocks and used my inhaler. Once, then twice. Pedaled a few more feet, then stopped and used it again.
This picture doesn’t quite portray the moodiness of the sky.
This one does.
At any rate, I pedaled more slowly to the 7-11. It was only upon my arrival there that I realized my rear blinky had died. Okay, no problem. I’m at a convenience store, right? So I located some batteries, grabbed a chocolate bar and headed over to the drink fridge.
THERE WAS NO SNAPPLE!
After recovering from my shock, I left with my meager supplies and no beverage. There is no substitute for Peach Snapple Iced Tea.
With a freshly renewed blinky, and a miserable soul, I headed home. When I arrived, My Sly Guy said: “Oh, well, that’s why I didn’t buy you one,” as if he’d known all along! Instead, he made me a tequila-sunrise-like concoction with orange juice, grenadine and coconut rum. It was a poor substitute, sniff, but I survived.