I don't know what we did to offend, but some little god of travel seemed bent against us this past Thursday. We performed all the right rituals*, but it was the Worst Drive Ever.
It was as if we had a checklist of misadventures to complete:
-Get lost at first exit.
-Throw tantrum (broken sunglasses, mangled atlas, and banged knees a plus).
-Conclude that one and a half hard rolls and eight warm Coca Cola's are not sufficient travel fare.
-Get redirected into the dark heart of West "Is that man leaning on a shotgun?" Virginia.
-Exhale in relief crossing over the border of Pennsylvania before being plunged for two hours and a mile and a half of PA traffic.
That evening found us staggering like madmen into my mother's kitchen and grunting for a good hour over chicken cordon bleu before regaining our senses and heading back out.
*Shit. It was Hoist. We forgot Hoist.
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