It had been a perfectly good day. A productive day at work, pleasantly mild weather, a nice walk back to my car. And that’s when the trouble started and the star-crossed day really began.
The car wouldn’t start. It was completely dead. Kish was out of town, and I had to get back home and feed and walk the dogs. But how? It was too late to catch a bus, even if I had known which bus to catch. My friends had all left work. It’s too far to walk, too. So a cab was the only option.
My cab driver had possibly — possibly — lived in Columbus for a month. I directed him to take the fastest way back, following the freeways, but because he didn’t know where the hell he was going he kept it well below the speed limit. It was the slowest cab ride I’ve ever experienced. A little old lady zipped by in an Oldsmobile and gave us the finger. I’m not sure, but I think we may have been passed by a toddler on a tricycle.
Approximately three days and a hefty fare later, I walked to my front door to be greeted by two frantic dogs. I fed them and decided not to change before walking them, but Kasey elected to have an accident just to teach me a lesson for getting home so late, anyway. After cleaning that up and doing the poop patrol duty, then restraining two wildly barking and lunging dogs from attacking a clearly worried woman who was walking a tiny furball, we returned home.
The icemaker picked that time to jam, and when I opened the freezer door to investigate the problem one metric ton of ice fell to the floor, fractured into tiny splinters, and had to be swept up. The first wine glass I picked from the cabinet had a big crack in it, and when I turned to get a new one Penny knocked my plate of food off the counter.
It was the kind of day that made our remote ancestors decide that alcohol needed to be invented.