Dumb Brunettes
I like this anecdote, because Mark and I will look equally dumb in it. I think.
The other day, I got lost driving home from the East Bay. I got on the wrong freeway, not hard to do with all those intersecting lanes and freeways going here there and everywhere, and all these blasted pushy drivers not letting you get over. I, of course, panicked. I have no natural sense of direction, and my only hope of ever getting home is to stay EXACTLY on the course as mapped out for me ahead of time by Mark or by Yahoo Directions; it’s not as though I could somehow feel and improvise my way home using my God-given common sense. Duhh.
So, I pulled over at the first exit I could find, fumbled for my cell phone, and with sweaty and trembling hands of panic, called Mark to tell him what had happened. “Please help me,” I panted, “I am lost and need you to talk me every step of the way home.”
He was calm, of course, and felt he could help me find my way home, but he said he couldn’t stay on the phone very long, because he was expecting a very important phone call. “What,” I screamed, “could be more important than helping your lost wife find her way home? I am going to DIE out here, DIE!!”
There was a long pause, and then he changed the subject. He stayed on the phone with me the whole time and helped me find my way back to the right freeway. But I later discovered, by means of a thorough browbeating, that the person whose "very important" call he was waiting for was ME. Before I got lost, we had planned that I’d call him and pick him up outside work. So the dear man couldn’t stay on the phone and help me find my way home, because he was expecting a call from ME at around 4:30.
Hopefully this illustrates that we are both dumb brunettes… if not, I may have to share The Fork Story.
The other day, I got lost driving home from the East Bay. I got on the wrong freeway, not hard to do with all those intersecting lanes and freeways going here there and everywhere, and all these blasted pushy drivers not letting you get over. I, of course, panicked. I have no natural sense of direction, and my only hope of ever getting home is to stay EXACTLY on the course as mapped out for me ahead of time by Mark or by Yahoo Directions; it’s not as though I could somehow feel and improvise my way home using my God-given common sense. Duhh.
So, I pulled over at the first exit I could find, fumbled for my cell phone, and with sweaty and trembling hands of panic, called Mark to tell him what had happened. “Please help me,” I panted, “I am lost and need you to talk me every step of the way home.”
He was calm, of course, and felt he could help me find my way home, but he said he couldn’t stay on the phone very long, because he was expecting a very important phone call. “What,” I screamed, “could be more important than helping your lost wife find her way home? I am going to DIE out here, DIE!!”
There was a long pause, and then he changed the subject. He stayed on the phone with me the whole time and helped me find my way back to the right freeway. But I later discovered, by means of a thorough browbeating, that the person whose "very important" call he was waiting for was ME. Before I got lost, we had planned that I’d call him and pick him up outside work. So the dear man couldn’t stay on the phone and help me find my way home, because he was expecting a call from ME at around 4:30.
Hopefully this illustrates that we are both dumb brunettes… if not, I may have to share The Fork Story.
posted by Sarah Goss at 8:36 PM
6 Comments:
Yes! But I am quite sure that if Mark had gotten off the phone with me in order to await a call from me, I'd still be wandering the East Bay aimlessly to this day....
Sarah, what's in a mimosa?
(And to make you feel better, just remember by salt/hail story ...)
Aha-- thanks for reminding me! I will cover the mimosa story in Dumb Brunettes, Part 2. In the meantime, though: dear Mita, please share your salt/hail story with those who might not be aware....
That was a fascinating and most amazing story.
I like Albert's question of whether you ever made it home. I like how it implies that you might be posting to your blog via cell phone from some other state or something. :-)
I saw an episode of Without a Trace last night in which an HIV-positive pregnant mom, who must give birth by C-section to avoid transmitting the virus, almost gives birth in a car because she gets lost in an unfamiliar neighborhood and goes into labor. Perhaps for your baby shower we should get you a GPS device for your car? Although it might be stressful to hear a computerized voice tell you that you missed a turn.
Don't let that stress you out, though - you won't be driving too close to your due date anyway, right?
Oh my gosh, Deb, that is my nightmare!! Mark and I just went through this big old thing about whether he should accept a gig a month before my due date, and that is one of the reasons... although I can't imagine getting lost between California Street and the Kaiser hospital on Geary and Divisadero :-) Now that would take talent! But it hadn't actually crossed my mind that I won't be driving near my due date. Hmmm. That's something to think about. Well, given the incredibly small size of our parking space in our new garage, I surmise that I will never be driving again, period, for fear of smashing into the other cars in the garage.
Dear Albert,
I am pregnant!!!!
Love,
Sarah
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