Today, we were scheduled to go to a wedding in a Neighboring Town, at the Neighboring Town Country Club. Neighboring Town CC is about 20 miles from our house, and we were a tad bit late. The following story is true, and names have not been changed to protect the innocent (or guilty).
I was a tired girl this morning when the ZZ crew woke me up – and MLH didn’t get in from the field until midnight, so double that dose. I kept telling him, “Let’s go, we need to take the dogs for a run, and I’ve got to find something to wear for the wedding.” MLH starts talking to me about the hotel arrangements I’ve made for the James Taylor – Boston – Martha’s Vineyard trek scheduled departure time Tuesday 6:30 a.m.
Janie: Don’t even. We’ll do this later, we can go over everything.
MLH: I’m worried about the arrangements you’ve made.
Janie: I had to make them, it's been crazy since you've been stuck in the field. Get up, please. Take care of the dogs. I’m going shopping.
MLH: Honey, the wedding’s in 3 hours. I didn’t realize you needed to go shopping.
I leave, head to Ross, pick up two dresses for way cheap, and jet to Dillards. I pick up about 6 dresses, give them to Sweet Colleen, and my phone rings.
MLH: Are you done with me for the day?
Janie: What? Why? No, man. I just had to get on it.
MLH: I thought I’d go get us Starbucks and meet you. Need help deciding? (Man, MLH knows me.)
Janie: Sure. (trying not to sound relieved. This man rocks at dressing me!)
Ten minutes later, he’s at Dillards, with Starbucks, parked outside the dressing room, giving thumbs up, thumbs down. Colleen’s busting it grabbing outfits for me. (Usually, I’m pretty low maintenance – I grab outfits, buy them, go home, try them on so MLH can weigh in, bring the remainder back and return them. In all the years I’ve shopped there, this is the first time Colleen’s had to wait on me “that way”. She’s awesome.) We decide on three outfits.
I look at my Crackberry, it’s 11:47 a.m. Now, I’m freaking - where did the time go? I’ve still got to stop by Shoe Carnival and grab shoes. I get ‘er done, and arrive at the house. MLH is right behind me with burritos. I hop into the shower, and I’m done with hair and makeup around 12:23. Then, I have to decide what to wear. End up in the freakin’ cheap Ross dress, with a little shrug sweater from Dillards, black patent flats from Shoe Carnival. Sweet.
MLH showers, dresses, eats his burrito. We leave the house at 12:43, and I eat my burrito en route, as we argue over the quickest way to get there. Of course, I pick the wrong way - which ends up being the long way, inadvertently setting the tone for the next saga of the day. We arrive at the old entrance of Neighboring Town CC at 1:01 p.m. We turn in, go past the old country club, and keep driving.
Right up to a sign that says “Private Road. Turn around.”
We can see the new country club…but we’re separated by a dirt road that turns into…(wait for it!)
The. Golf. Cart. Path.
(“No,” you’re saying. “You didn’t.” But you really know the answer, don't you?)
MLH: Janie, we can’t go there.
Janie: Yes, we can, just do it, we’re going to miss the wedding. It will take us 10 minutes to go around. Just do it.
MLH: Oh, no. We’ll get in trouble.
Janie: If we get caught, but what are the chances? Just go, honey, I’ll try to talk my way out of it if something happens. Just go!!!
And, thankfully, he does. We go trucking east down that cart path. In our humongous 4wd Yukon XL. Slowly. Trying to stay on the concrete. Golfers are turning around, looking at us in amazement. I’m playing like the freakin’ queen of Sheba, looking straight ahead. Those minions don’t even deserve my glance. After all, I’m the owner of this cart path. (Positive thinking, right? Hey, that's what Joel Osteen espouses, see?)
MLH: Great. That cart is the course marshal.
Janie: No, it's not. Just go! We can't turn around now, think of the damage!
MLH: I'm going! I'm going!
We come up to a golf cart, parked directly in the middle of the cart path. Can you believe the nerve of that golfer? He should park left, or right. Not. In. The. Middle.
MLH: I can’t get around this golf cart!
Janie: Yes, you can! Go left, just a hair, it won’t hurt the grass much! Only half a mile, honey, you’re doing good!
MLH: I don't need your help to drive, Janie.
Golfers on the next green, about to hit – slowly turn to look at us in shock and amazement. I’m sure their laughing their butts off, and hoping we can continue to stay on the pavement. Finally, I can see the parking lot – and we continue down the cart path towards such, past the cart barn. We find a parking space about 6 rows from the cart barn and park, ducking our heads as we get out of my truck. I'm almost running in, with MLH following behind.
We arrive at the wedding without further incident. MLH is walking (stalking) ahead of me, embarrassed that I pushed him to do such a sneaky illegal thing, and then, we've compounded it by being late. I’m just breathing, thankful. We sneak in just as the ceremony starts, see some customers, and go sit down by them. They all smile, and wave. The ceremony is way under way by now, and I can’t settle. MLH is sitting as far away as he can from me and still be in the next chair. All of a sudden, I start giggling, thinking about what we’ve done.
And I can’t stop.
MLH, whispering: What, Jane? ("Jane" only comes out of his mouth when he's exasperated with me.)
Janie, trying to whisper: I can’t believe we just did that!
Customer, touching my shoulder, whispering: What’s going on?
Janie, still trying to whisper: We had to drive down the cart path to get here from the old country club.
Customer: You did what? (He belongs to this country club.)
He turns to his wife, tells her, and it goes all the way down the line. I’m really trying to compose myself. We all start giggling…well, everyone except MLH. He’s still got his PIW*, which is only exacerbated by the giggling.
We all calm down, and enjoy the ceremony. It was a beautiful wedding. And the best thing?
My truck was still in the parking lot. Not towed. No nasty notes on the windshield. We got away with it, thankfully.
*Panties in a Wad. (And he got over it, before the ceremony was over.)