ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN - SARCASM WILL FOLLOW

The week did not get off to a good start.  The rain came down on Monday morning, and continued all day.  We left the office and made our way home.  Unfortunately, the road was slippery and when the car in front of us decided not to enter the highway, and stopped, Dana didn't.  Fortunately, the impact was not enough to deploy the airbags, but we sustained quite a bit of damage to our car. 

My response to emergencies are simple.  If I am alone, I cope very well, probably because I have no choice.  However, if I am with someone who can take on the responsibility, I become a quivering wreck and beyond useless.  My initial reaction was, as usual, to panic.  Rational had slipped away, and when we finally reached home, even my coordination skills were failing.  We were later than usual, and so my original plan for dinner would have meant that we would be eating way past my bedtime!  I did have a back up plan.  Who would have thought that Chicken Pot Pies could emerge from a microwave so puffed and crispy in five minutes?  I certainly didn't, and due to my sensitive state, it took me approximately forty five minutes to discover the truth. I must have read the packet at least ten times, before actually following the instructions, and placing one pie at a time in the quick cooker.  I had chosen the microwave method for it's quickness, and I had failed miserably. 

Dinner was rather scrumptious, despite its late arrival, and I managed to settle my nerves, and return to some sort of normality.  The definition of my normality, unfortunately for Dana, means the return of sarcasm.  Samantha arrived home around 10.30, and immediately came to make sure I was still in once piece.  Once convinced, she said she was going to give the dog a bath.  The strength I summoned to keep my mouth shut was, unsurprisingly, slow to act, and the words slid out like maple syrup off a pancake.  'Dana was going to give the dog a bath', I started; 'But he decided to ram into a Volkswagen, instead!'  Presumably awaiting normality to return, Dana was ready with his defensive remark.  'I don't know why he stopped', he said, and then continued; 'there were no cars on the road'.  I was on fire!  'Yes there was; there was a great big Volkswagen for starters!'  Welcome back, Tracie!  The dog, oblivious to all, was burrowing under the covers in an attempt to avoid the impending dunking in the tub. 

On Tuesday, we travelled on dry roads to have our morning cup of coffee.  I am sure I am not the only person to feel very conspicuous when my vehicle has suffered a cosmetic injury.  I cannot say for certain that no one was actually pointing their finger, and laughing, as each time I looked at the occupants of passing cars, they appeared to be concentration on the road ahead.  It was all too suspicious.  I am sure the sign that normally reports that the missing elderly couple are on the loose, again, was flashing, 'ha ha ha ha ha ha'.  Perhaps I am just paranoid! 

There was not a day this week that went by when someone didn't 'notice' the vehicle's disfigurement, and each time someone came into remark, Dana went into his monologue, which always ended the same.  By Friday, I felt as if I was in a Pantomime.  As Dana finished by saying, 'I don't know why he stopped; there were no cars on the road', the chorus erupted; 'Oh yes there was!!  There was a great big Volkswagen!'  I do take credit for the chorus of one.  It was automatic.  As spring follows winter, and as night follows day, there was no stopping me.  Of course, being the lady that I am (not), I apologised after each occasion.  My husband, being the gentleman that he is (and he is!) accepted my apology with a wry grin, each time. 

Unfortunately for Dana, however, the week was not going to be over without another automobile mishap.  As I walked the dog out to Samantha's car, on Friday afternoon, I noticed that one of the rear tires on our faithful chariot was flat.  My attempt at being seriously sad was foiled by my naughty gene.  Dana's initial response was, 'you are joking!'  I explained that it wasn't all bad. 'It's only flat on the bottom', I sniggered, in true six year old fashion.  I wasn't told to stay inside but I felt it best not to add more insult to injury.  We had called Samantha back to the office as she was the holder of the 'golden' bolt remover.  For some reason, we share one of these tools, and it is the only one that will release the nuts on the wheels of both cars, short of taking them to a garage.  Roger went to help Dana, and returned to the office with a big smile on his face.  I surmised that the reason for his smirk was my daughter.  Sure enough, as I looked out of the window, I saw her mouth moving, and needed no convincing that she was telling Dana how to do the job properly.  I was not incorrect in my summation.  The instruction on how to loosen the nuts was closely followed by the, 'be careful you don't jack it up too high; what will you do if it flips over?'  Living with the two of us for the past seven and a half years, Dana has developed selective hearing.  I have searched for the scars from the surgery, that embedded the transmitter, that reacts to the remote control, that mutes the frequency emitted from both my daugter and myself! 

I know that I am forgiven my indiscretions, and continual mockery, as tonight I was treated to the most scrumptious home made beef nachos.  We enjoyed an evening of commercials, interrupted occasionally by the Super Bowl!  I was happy with the result as the Giants managed to hold the Patriots at bay.  Although I did not have an affiliation to either, I am always an underdog cheerer, unless of course, my team is not the underdog, which is very uncommon!

Next week Dana is looking forward to a few days of peace and quiet; Samantha and I are off to New York City for a girlie weekend, with my cousin, her daughters and a couple of friends.  A weekend with the dog is Dana's kind of luxury.  In his mind I am not sure whom will have the better time, although I am sure I will have far more material to report ....... another story.