Further Proof that I am Weird

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Are you laughing?

Thinking - "yeah, like we needed more proof"?

Well, it's true. I am weird. I accept this about myself.

But every now and then, something happens to confirm my weirdness.

I understand some of it better than I did before. While at Blue Ridge, the amazing Vonda Skelton shared with us last Monday night that writers are a weird bunch. She was so funny. And she made the point that one of the things that makes us weird is that we see terrible situations as plot material. I thought it was hilarious, but couldn't think of a specific time when it had happened to me.

It happened one week later. 

Picture it . . . a mom who has showered, done her hair & makeup and is dressed in matching clothes, with her two adorable children, calmly and sweetly climbing into the mini-van for the morning trek to school, all with smiles and singing a hymn.

Um. Yeah. So if that's how it goes at your house, more power to you.

Here's how it played out at mine.

James is strapped into his car seat. He is dressed in play clothes, but only because he spilled applesauce all over his pajamas. I am in a t-shirt and a pair of pants that I wore when I painted the bathroom a few weeks ago. There's a lot of paint on the pants. I have NOT had a shower. In fact, I may not have brushed my teeth.

I'm saying "Emma Kalyn Blackburn - GET IN THE CAR." This line is repeated ad naseam for the next five minutes.

Now, you might ask, why didn't you just put her in the car?

Because . . .

I couldn't find my keys.

I'm wandering around the house, I'm asking James if he's had them (he has a reputation), I'm calling Brian to see if it is possible that he managed to leave the house with both sets of keys.

They were in the diaper bag.

It's around this time that I see the note reminding me that today is FIELD DAY and the kids are supposed to wear their class t-shirts and have a complete change of clothes because they will be getting wet.

There is no time for this. Emma goes to school in the clothes she already had on. I go grab a change of clothes and a towel and stuff them in her bag.

And, we're off. Miraculously, only five minutes later than usual.

Until we get behind the most annoying driver on the planet.

Now I ask you, how many people are out and about for the sheer joy of it at 7:30 in the morning?

NOBODY.

People are on their way to work or school. Or maybe to get coffee. But 99.9999% of the people driving around at 7:30AM are in a hurry.

I, however, got behind the 0.0001% of the population who was not.

(Like the math there? I'm sure my parents are thrilled to see my engineering degree paying off!)

The next several minutes were torture. This person consistently drove, not at the speed limit, but five to ten miles BELOW.

I'm in a hurry here. I can't imagine how it is possible for this person not to know this!

The moment that almost sent me hurtling into the abyss (I'd been over the edge for 15 minutes already) was when this lovely person SLOWED DOWN and almost came to a complete stop.

At a GREEN light. GREEN.

Did I mention it was GREEN?

I began to explain the situation to my precious children . . .

OK. I began to rant at the driver (oh, come on - you do it too) and at some point in my rant said "You just can't make this stuff up"!

And it hit me.

I can't make this up. But this is absolutely the perfect thing to torture my hero with on the very day he has to go to work with the heroine. He's tired, cranky, snapping at his precious daughter, dreading going to the office and then he gets behind that one in a million driver who is out for a joyride at 7:30 AM.

Fabulous!

I've almost got the whole scene plotted out in my head.

What? You've never been stuck behind a slow poke and used the experience to torture the hero in the story you have mostly in your head?

Like I said.

Further proof that I am weird.