I urged the self proclaimed 'Mama' to seek refuge in of doors for good reason. As soon as she heeded my request, the reason became apparent. In my defense, I was trying to save the nutty woman as much as myself.
I could write a book on it. And maybe I will one day. But for now, all I can think about is why I didn't pack a business card or day planner with Aunt Melinda's telephone number. Dumb dumb dumb.
No money for a cab, I pace a bit and then do the only other thing I can think of... bunker. Discouraged by digging on the tile floor with no result, I laid down with my head in the corner of the tiny half bathroom.
The so oblivious 'Mama' went about business I can only assume as usual, doing things and talking to me... as if I've not got my head behind a toilet. Half of me thought... why isn't she taking shelter in here with me? And the other half of me thought... she's just plain nuts!
And with that last thought, I heard her keys... rattling my ticket back to Aunt Melinda's! I hopped up straight away, thunder be damned (don't know if I can curse in this place, but hopefully I'll be back in the old place before I find out), and threw myself against the opening door. A struggle ensued, and I'm pretty sure I remember a stern reprimand... but there was not one single way I would be left here in Thunder Alley alone.
So... a leash was produced. I was attached to it. We approached the single day vacation trolley. The driver's door opened... and in a flash, I slipped out of my new collar and hopped onto the floor board under the stearing wheel with no place to go. Picture in your mind... another struggle, panic, and a few curse words that I'm pretty sure didn't come from me!
Once we'd finally negotiated our positions and were into our respective seats, I heaved a deep sigh and began to sing "Aunt Melinda, here I come... right back where I started from..." when I realized that we were pulling forward, not backward.
I watched in awe, as this 'Mama' crammed the vacation trolley into a single car garage. I don't understand eactly what's going on (since a lot of very confusing things are), but I figure things out pretty quickly.
And my theory is... it's almost a geometric impossibilty to get out of the back seat of a CRV in a single car garage built in 1952. Where there's a willing 'Mama', though... there's a way. And it defeats all logic. Maybe, just maybe... this is why she wanted to go out in the storm alone (something else to ponder at Aunt Melinda's).
In of doors once more, I resumed my position in the bunker and 'Mama' assumed hers, oblivious to the need for further panic. Listening intently for more rumblings, what I heard was her in here... on this very computer, typing an email.
Sometimes I hate when my first impressions are true. The woman is nuts. And I'm gonna tell.