Pretty is as Pretty Does

 It’s 5:00, on a Tuesday afternoon in August, and I am in the trunk of my car in the parking lot of Costco, wearing a black sundress with white polka dots. Just to be clear—I am the one wearing the sundress, not the car-- or the parking lot. I am very, very pretty.

I can explain. I am in the trunk because my keys are locked in the front seat of my car. Along with my cell phone and credit cards. And the iced coffee that precipitated this whole kerfuffle; coffee that was purchased to avoid just this kind of scenario: I tend to overbook myself; I’ve been up since 4:30 a.m., and I’m pretty (!) sure I’m going to need the caffeine to make my brain function properly. I have an open trunk, a cartload of Costco goodness, and am climbing into the trunk to see if I can reach thru the 6”x 12” armrest opening and unlatch the backseat. If I can do that, I can crawl through, unlock the car from the INSIDE and no one would be the wiser that—in an attempt not to spill my iced coffee—I instead dropped my keys into the seat next to the coffee. There’s also the part where I pushed the lock button instead of the unlock button—twice—but it takes too long to fully explain. You wouldn’t be reading about how pretty I am; you would instead be making a mental note to lock your car as you read how much zucchini I’ve inadvertently grown. Hopefully, your mental note would also include the caveat to avoid locking your keys in your car. Especially with your cell phone. Because it is very, very difficult to discretely summon assistance without it.

Did I mention I was wearing a sundress? Because I am. Decorum requires that I climb all the way into the trunk and curl my legs inside because-- dress reasons. As I am lying curled up in the back of my trunk in a busy parking lot it occurs to me that the only thing that could make this ridiculous story even better is if some well-meaning passers-by shut the lid of my trunk. I begin to giggle. I also note that I should probably vacuum my trunk more often.

Eventually, I accept the reality that my arm is too short to reach the seat latch and I’m going to have to exit the trunk-- as though it were a perfectly normal place to exit a vehicle-- and ask the kind people at Costco to Google “locksmiths near me,” and call said locksmith.

I do, they do. One hour and $154 later I am reunited with my coffee. I was right—I really, really needed it.

All Things to All People

I have a weakness.

My weakness is there’s some small part of me that is convinced that I am a Super Shero, that I can be All Things to All People, and that if I just organize my day properly I can Do! All! the Things! Spoiler alert: this is often not the case. Still, my belief in myself remains unflagging.

Take a random Tuesday in August; I have promised my neighbor to go exercise with her first thing in the a.m.. I have also made tentative plans to go see my cousin Jill and her daughter Gracie when they arrive from out of state to settle Gracie in for her final semester at Lewis and Clark College. Maybe we’ll have lunch, maybe dinner, who knows, but it’s a plan.

 Planish. 

Plan adjacent. We’ll figure it out.

Gracie, Jill and I--we figured it out. 

On my way to Portland, I might as well swing north to Napavine—I mean, it’s RIGHT THERE—kiss my grandkids, and deliver fair tickets to my kiddos—why do I have fair tickets, you might ask? It’s a long story, no need to digress. Let’s just keep focused on how many birds I am menacing with this single stone.

The other bird is that Mark is suddenly dispatched to California—sudden as in Sunday he got the call—to help oversee the safety and quality assurance of a railroad bridge that was destroyed in the Dixie fire in what once was Greenville, California. Since I’m going to be in Portland anyway, I might as well swing by, drop him off at the airport, kiss-kiss, be careful, and be on my way. Then a quick stop at Costco for—well, for whatever random goodness appeals, to be honest.

Did I mention that lunch is on the I-5 side, and the airport is on the 205 side, and traffic at anytime of day is the stuff of nightmares? Also, I might have been up since 4:30 a.m. working out the logistics?

All of the aforementioned explains why—at 5 p.m. on a random Tuesday-- I am climbing into the trunk of my car in the Vancouver parking lot of Costco. 

I lay down. 

I really, really need caffeine.