Perhaps...

...tomorrow. Perhaps the day AFTER tomorrow, which is today. Wheee!

Okay...so...when last seen, our haughty heroine was having a delicious birthday weekend with the Nana.

And then it ended. Tragic, turgid bitter tale.

Now Nana said it. I did not. "I'm like packing for a baby." It's true. Nana monitors, games, formula (aka, more medication than GOD), clothing bags and food packed for the trip. Got it all, and her, and ME, in the Volvo for the ride back to her house.

What did I forget? What did I forget?

I didn't realize it until we were caught in a five-mile back-up due to an accident. I needed to call my brudder to tell him we would be running late when I notice...

My purse.

Is not there.

My purse...with my wallet (license, cash, credit cards), cellphone AND SANITY.

This is when I realize the gas tank is perilously close to empty. Since I've driven a total of 20 miles in the car in 4 days, I'm a little freaked. It's not my car, so I've got keine clue what kind of reserves there are.

And there's the Nana. We finally work out if we get through the stop-and-start traffic, I will hit the nearest gas station with her credit card.

We get through the crap traffic and hit the nearest gas station with her credit card.

And I can't get the gas door open. At all. I feel the fool. I can't find a button or lever or NUTTIN. We check the manual...as long as the driver's door is unlocked the gas tank door should be as well.

LYING THIEVING WHORES.

I ask a cute guy if he can figure it out. This is rough for me 'cause I'm nothing if not VAIN and I might as well be back in eighth grade with glasses and braces and stringy hair and zits. THAT'S how I was feeling.

Cute though he was, he couldn't figure it out either.

Now, here's the kicker. I have to keep turning off the engine which turns off the air-conditioning which turns off the Nana. She's delicate. I am not allowed to Kentucky Fry Nana.

I try the gas station attendant. Equally clueless we go our merry way and hope to make it to Nana's house. She suggests I pray. I suggest I drive. She suggests I pray while driving. I suggest that anyone who does anything other than driving while driving has their head stuck up their butt.

Nice. I'm a nice girl.

We make it to the Nana house with gas to spare. My brudder (of the chocolate Hostess Cream-Filled Cupcake birthday cake fame) can't even figure out how to pop that persnickety little puppy.

I'm no longer feeling incredibly assholian.

We call the Volvowner and HE can't figure it out.

We call the Volvo dealer and they...wait for it...can't figure it out and suggest we BREAK THE DOOR.

Assholes.

At this point, I dig into spoonfuls of peanut butter because I am FREAKING OUT. I feel like this is all my fault...like world hunger. I'm some kind of sensory defensive and rocking and spoonfuls of peanut butter calm me down.

Who knew?

Since we can't reach Volvowner and I am loathe to disfigure the cute car without his permission, I decide to get on a train and jog back to my cozy getaway and walk R-Leigh the Wonderdog.

THEN Wonderbrudder magically finds something online, we go through the trunk, he pulls the siding away AND

He eases open that cranky little bugger of a door.

I hug him, kiss the Nana goodbye (all the whilst apologizing for my crankiness). Wait, I forgot to tell you, during the hour and a half trip I REALLY had to pee. AND I had my period. You couldn't WRITE this shit.

Okay, so I apologize, borrow a couple of bucks, find high octane gas for $2.96 a gallon (MIRACLE), buy some TaB at the local market, get on the road, hit massive rush hour traffic, get back in an hour fifteen and am greeted by the best dog in the world.

After her potty run, I find a Red Stripe and jump in the pool fully clothed. Where I remain for the next two hours.

Life is good.

But I wanna know where the other .8 ounces of Red Stripe went.