Uncategorized — 27 February 2018

By: Rhonda Beckman

Published: February 14, 2018

I didn’t realize how “bushed” I was until I started to head down the highway today with Brad. Even just going to Dryden for the day and checking in at the farm for a few minutes was sweet reprieve from looking out the same windows for the last six weeks. Some people like to hop on a plane and go somewhere warm and tropical. I just need a simple road trip with my husband and it’s a good day. But today was one of those days where the giggles kicked in. It could have been a combination of lack of sleep, the twenty thousand pound hamburger steak I consumed at the Patricia Inn and having a drink with aspartame in it, (what is aspartame anyway?) but I was feeling pretty goofy by the time we hit the highway to head back home.

It started with my vehicle. It is a Dodge Nitro and was definitely made for short, old grannies. And I don’t mean any offence by that because I aspire to being a short, old grannie one day. It’s just that the vehicle has somewhat small doors. To get in, you kind of get used to doing a swoop, dive and mid-air slide, somewhat similar to what Eric and Meaghan have been doing fantastically on the ice for the last couple of weeks at the Olympics. And I have the seat quite forward for comfort, which must make it look like I am practically kissing the windshield while I am driving. So when I watch my husband climb into the driver’s seat, it truly is comical with his elbows up by his ears. But I had noticed that he was having some ergonomical difficulties with the vehicle. Earlier, he bonked the side of his head on the back gate when it was opened. He struggled with the back doors and getting items in and out of the car, but it was only when we were filling up with gas in Vermilion Bay that a comedy of errors unfolded. As 6 foot 4 inch Brad attempted to do the grannie swoop-dive-slide, he whacked his head really good on the frame of the door. That in itself was not funny and I gasped and asked if he was ok, even though I knew a bit of a giggle was starting to erupt. He looked at me in disbelief and I quickly asked if his glasses were broken. Honestly, as if on cue as I asked that question, the lens of his glasses popped out and landed on the console. Too much. I was in stitches, much to Brad’s chagrin. Fortunately he is a good sport and giggled a bit with me even though his favourite glasses were broken.  

Oh, but it didn’t end there. As we drove down the highway I decided to pick up the novel we have been reading together and read to him while he drove. This may not have been such a good idea for several reasons; for one, I was still wiping away the tears from the first laughing fit. Secondly, we’re reading Dan Brown’s latest novel, which is set in Barcelona, and a lot of the words are said in Spanish. I wish Lindsay Briscoe had been with us on the trip because she could have pronounced the word for me so eloquently. With every Spanish word that I slaughtered, I laughed a bit more at the ridiculousness of my swollen tongue on such fluid words, and the more I laughed, the more I thought of Brad’s lens popping out of his glasses as he looked at me in bewilderment. I would have to stop reading, gather myself again, breathe deeply, then carry on until I slaughtered the next word that made me think of Brad again. I repeated this almost until Ear Falls. Oh boy.

Sometimes I just have days like this. The laughing is uncontrollable and I am inconsolable. I practically have to meditate myself out of these fits, and they truly can be inconvenient at times. The nice part is that when we got home, my lovely husband said that he wanted to chill and relax this evening with me, watching a movie. Not bad considering I just spent a good hour laughing my face off at him and the many protrusions that were developing on his head. Brad made our fast and furious 105 trip to the farm all the more entertaining, even if it was at his expense, and I am thankful for his beautiful demeanor and ability to laugh at himself, even if he’s not laughing that much. (Pssst…happy Valentine’s Day, Brad! I love you!)

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Jennifer Parsons

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