Anxiety

Author’s note – No one was injured during the course of this post.  Well…except maybe my ego.   And a mailbox.  And Olivia.
I felt an all new level of anxiety for the past week last night…But in order to tell you WHY, for y’all to fully grasp the emotion I felt, I have to go back to Labor Day weekend.

It all started when…

My friend Wendy (hi Wendy…I think you probably knew where this was going when you saw the word MAILBOX.  And I am thankful that I can still call you my friend after *THE INCIDENT*)…Where was I?  Oh yeah…so Wendy asked if Avery could come to her house and play with her sweet adorable daughter, Caitlin.  Of course…and after some quiet time with my little guy, I went over to pick her up.  Wendy lives on a cul-de-sac with a extremely lovely island in the middle.  An island right at the end of her driveway.  Directly at the end…(this is KEY to my story so please bear with me.)  I rolled up in Olivia the Vibe (named by Avery.  You thought I was going to tell you that an innocent child or animal named Olivia was hurt…not the case.)

I loaded Avery up and after 10,002 goodbyes, we started to roll.  My eyes were COMPLETELY 100% focused on the island, with the big tree and the fence around it.  I started cutting early.  Too early.  And suddenly WHAM.  What the fuck?  Huh?  I check my mirror for a parked car.  Nope.  SHIT.  I hit a kid.  FUCK.  I jumped out of my car and raced around back, iPhone in hand to call 911.  I breathed a sigh of relief (sorta) that it was ONLY Wendy’s mailbox.  Her mailbox now leaning like the Tower of Pisa.  I thought about driving off…but she’s my friend.  So back into the driveway I pull and go up to the door.  She didn’t believe me at first.  But maybe she heard the tremble in my voice and saw the beads of sweat forming on my upper lip.  Then she looked…past my car…and saw the damage.  We surveyed it and she promised not to sue me.  I was about to go on my merry way, and try to figure out the best way to tell Hubby about my accident…when Wendy’s husband pulled up.  I apologized profusely and sprinted out of there, leaving a bend mailbox post in my wake.  (And it isn’t your every day mailbox post…it’s like an axle from an 18 wheeler or something.  I backed into something that is built to hold tons of weight.  Way to go, me!)

Wendy and I remained friends after that.  She didn’t immediately defriend me on Facebook so I figured all was well.

Fast Forward now to earlier this week.   Wendy and I had a meeting to attend.  And she asked if she could hitch a ride.  Sure thing.  I told her I would pick her up.  It wasn’t until AFTER I agreed to drive that it dawned on me that I would have to run the gauntlet again.  I’d have to successfully navigate her cul-de-sac avoiding not only a huge tree and a fence, but also her sturdier than oak mailbox post.  Fuck.

It kept me up at night.

Seriously.

And Thursday night rolled around.  I cruised over to her house.  Pulled into the driveway (you bet I gave that mailbox the evil eye).  There was her husband, mowing the lawn.  When I got out of the car…he smiled.  And said “This time just back straight out.  You’ll be fine.”  Um, sure thing.

The moment came.   Seatbelts buckled.  Car in gear.  Backwards I start to roll.  I swear that a fucking snail was moving faster than I was.  My palms were sweating.  My right leg was shaking as I slowly eased up on the brake.  Think Ted Striker.  (Airplane! for those of you who don’t know)

I’ll bet Wendy was glad I was wearing my Secret.  Clinical Strength.  Bought specifically for this occasion.

I DID IT!  Nothing hit.  Nothing damaged.  No potential lawsuits.  THANK GOD!

My confidence was back.  And I was able, 1 1/2 hours later, to successfully drop her back at her house and get home, unscathed, in the dark.

But Wendy, next time can you drive?

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3 thoughts on “Anxiety

  1. 1. Finally, someone else calls it “defriend” instead of the other idiotic options.

    2. Who hasn’t seen Airplane and needs that explained? (that calls for a defriend)

    3. My husband inexplicably plowed through the tether ball pole at our son’s elementary school. Popped the front tire, gash in it, took out the pole. Our 4th grader nearly committed suicide right there in the parking lot.

    4. Better than that? I ran out of gas in the same carpool lane the day before.

    5. And! We forgot to pick him up the day before that.

    We’ve moved from Kansas City to San Diego in the span of 2 months. Decided, execution, done. Obviously, we forgot our children somewhere in there. I’m thinking they’ll be OK, though.

    Right? Right?

    Awesome story.

  2. Wendy says:

    What an excellent tale you tell! You forgot to mention that some of it is fiction, though. For I am definitely suing you. For many, many dollars. Or at least enough to pay for my 50,000 Girl Scout Troop Leader training classes.

    And I had to bust out laughing (BOL is an acronym that needs to be used more often – much more effective than the overdone LOL) at the pic of Ted Striker. You hid that profusion of sweat rather well.

  3. Michelle says:

    This was my laugh for the day thanks! Wendy…dont’ forget that you need to sue her for the costs of all the girl scout cookies that you’re going to need to buy, because of the mom guilt that comes w/having a daisy, brownie, girl scout and thinking that you didn’t sell enough cookies 😉

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