I had to be downtown for a 9 a.m. doctor’s appointment last Tuesday. For some of you that might be an accomplishment of insignificant proportions, but lo, I am spoiled, and have not had to drive downtown in God-forsaken morning traffic in seven years. I should mention that the hubby also had to be downtown at 9 a.m. Would the girls arrive at school fully clothed? Would I arrive at work and realize I had on one navy and one black shoe? (Which has, unfortunately, happened.)
I knew they would take a blood sample at the appointment, and knowing that I would pass out unless I got something in my system besides coffee and a bite of toast, I cruised through good ole McDonalds. I got turned around on the way to the hospital parking garage, because sometimes my rural upbringing rears its ugly head and I get confused if I have to maneuver through one-way streets. I finally made it to the appointment and an hour and a half later was on the way to work.
I finished up at my office pretty quickly and when I went out to my car I could not open the driver’s side door. I unlocked it and locked it several times to no avail. I had to walk around to the passenger’s side, unlock that door, and crawl over to the driver’s seat. I then realized why my driver’s side door was not opening. I had somehow freakishly jammed my seatbelt in my driver’s side door. I buzzed the hubby, told him what was going on with my jammed car door and said, I quote, “only me!”
I drove home illegally, without wearing a seatbelt, because it was jammed in the door, and with my interior light flashing on and off because the blankity blank frikkity freakin’ frakkin’ door was jammed. I got home, and worried that my car battery would die until the hubby could get the door unjammed, I did what any able bodied woman would do to shut the door tight. I turned around and butted it as hard as I could with my rear end.