This Is What Happens When You Leave Your House

Jesus Lord God, y'all. I'm tired. It's six o'clock in the evening and I've got a chicken about to go into the oven, one of those nice little Greenwise ones that I'm sure was raised with loving tenderness and only the finest of non-hormonally treated, non-antibiotic infused, organic bugs and grains and that a Zen Buddhist Monk chanted over it as it was humanely put to death.

At least it better be for the price I paid for it.

Anyway, my fatigue has nothing to do with the chicken and the little bit of dressing I made to go into it. Ah no. That was a breeze of a thing to do, chop up some celery and onions and throw in a few pecans and saute them in all in a pan and then add chicken broth and some Pepperidge Farm Stuffing mix.

Yeah. I used Pepperidge Farm. So what? It's Tuesday night, not Thanksgiving.

Anyway, no, it wasn't that which made me tired.

It was the walk I took this morning which wasn't my usual walk. It was straighter and on pavement and it was hot and I just wanted to get it over with so I walked really fast. No stopping for trash today, my friends.

And when I got home I started unloading and spreading the rest of that pine bark and did some weeding of the flower beds and I must have shoveled at least five thousand shovel-fulls of the pine bark which will add up, even if it doesn't weigh anything. And then I swept out the truck so carefully and was so proud of myself and I hopped down from the truck and decided to go pick up an abandoned cement planting pot I'd spied on the side of the road during my walk. I was already filthy, it was only about a quarter mile from the house and so I just jumped in the car wearing my shit-beat flip-flops, a pair of cargo shorts, a black tank top and NO BRA. I was not planning on seeing anyone. This would be a kamikaze planting pot gathering. Drive there, pull off the road, gather up the pot, toss it in the back of the car, and drive home.

Why would I need a bra?

The pot-retrieval went just fine. I got it in the back of the Mini Cooper and then I decided to go check out a "For Sale" sign I'd also seen on my walk and drove down another quarter of a mile to a dirt road that turned into a grass road. And then, before I actually realized what the hell I was doing, I ran over a large piece of pine log in the road which my car did not clear which means my car was stuck ON the pine log and would not go forward and would not go back.

Well shit, I said to myself. Why the hell did I do that?

In my defense, I will say that the size of the pine log was somewhat camouflaged by its position in the middle of some very tall grass. But still, it had been a stupid move and it was time to pay the price. I stepped out of the car and got down on my belly in the dirt to see what was what, and what was what was that the pine log was firmly jammed between the underside of my car and the dirt road. I tried, feebly, to dig the log out with my bare fingernails but after about ten seconds of that, I realized there was nothing to do but lock the car, walk home, and call Mr. Moon.

Which is what I did.

I walked home wearing the shit-beat flip flops, the cargo shorts, the tank top and NO BRA, thinking that surely someone would stop to ask if I wanted to buy any crack but no one did. Two bulldogs did bound out of a fence and bark at me but I think my raspy weird voice trying to yell "Go home!" scared them and they pretended they were interested in an old piece of tire and not me and left me alone and intact, but with a slightly elevated heart-rate.

I made it home, sweaty and pissed off at myself and called Mr. Moon who said he'd be there right away and he was.

He wasn't perturbed, he wasn't upset. He just went out to the garage and got his floor jack and loaded it up and down the road we went and he jacked up the Mini and pulled out the log (which turned out to be a fine piece of fat lighter) and we brought that home with us and it would appear that the underside of the Mini is fine.

Glory be and hallelujah.

But I have learned a few things and one of them is really, whenever I get in the car to go anywhere, I should be wearing a bra, and I should probably have a phone. What if I'd decided to go look at a house for sale that was five miles away? Hell. I'd still be walking home and Mr. Moon would be frantic.

And there would be no nice stuffed chicken to serve my knight in shining armor and I'd probably never go out of the house again and I'm wondering if maybe that wasn't the lesson I should have learned anyway.

But I suppose that all's well that ends well and I am grateful to have a husband who has things lying around the garage like floor jacks and who can use them with skill and proficiency.

And I have a fully-mulched yard and it's no wonder I'm tired and oh yes, I planted three papaya seedlings in the pot I brought home and I hope they're happy there, although as you can see, some of them are already looking a bit wilty.

It may just be one of those days when all my acts go for naught but at least I think the chicken will be tasty and I feel pretty sure that by the time I roll into bed (which will probably be around eight p.m.) I will sleep just fine.