This is what happens when you forsake the GPS Lady in favor of the Google: A four-hour drive turns into a five-hour ordeal that still has hours to go.
The GPS Lady wanted us to take 84 to 91, which gets you off 84 pretty far north. The Google wanted us to take the Hutch. Which means miles and miles and miles of 84. No problem. Unless there’s a shooting on 84 that shuts the highway down on both sides for ninety minutes.
Freakin’ Google. Of course we left a full 40 minutes late because Pie decided to have a little temper tantrum about going, so the extra hour on the Pike didn’t help.
Once in the car, Pie took a two-hour nap. Then she got carsick, which necessitated a Coke. Which means I’ll have the Daughter Who Doesn’t Sleep in the City That Doesn’t Sleep. Thank God she’s willing to come out with me for martinis later.
We are all totally punch drunk. The boy is trying to sleep and the girl is trying to talk. She’s done math in the backseat (“2 + 2 + 2 = 6. It’s the same as 3 + 3”). Periodically she checks in on the shooting: “Shooting a policeman is a bad idea. It’s like the Libyans,” which took a little deciphering to understand. Finaly she says, exasperated, “Like in ‘Back to the Future'” and of course Michael J. Fox goes back in time because Libyans are shooting him. So we have to, once again, explain why the Libyans were shooting at Michael J. Fox and at that point I turn up my iPod, which then leads to me explaining what “bitch” means. One of these days I’ll censor the songs on my iPod but given that we have nightly dance parties to Cee Lo Green’s “F You” song, that might be a bit like shutting the barn door after the horses are out.
Where was I? Oh yes, punch drunk and trapped on a highway. Freakin’ highway. Freakin’ Google. 38 miles till my martini. Follow the olive-paved road! Follow the olive-paved road! If there’s only a beer behind the curtain, I am going to be pissed!!
