The universe conspires against me.
Today I had a doctor appointment. So I drove The Pony to Newmentia and came back home. Then I drove to the doctor's office and came back home. Then I drove back to Newmentia to pick up The Pony after school.
The dogs were all frisky and overjoyed when I came back the first time at 8:00. They pranced to get petted, and whipped their tails ecstatically, whimpering with excitement. I told them no treats. It was too early. The next time I came home, around 12:45, Juno did not bother to leave her house, and Ann strolled over for a pat with hopeful raised eyebrows. Too early for treats. When I got back with The Pony at 5:00, Juno sighed and ambled over. Guess what? TREATS! Ann came snorfling over for her share.
You know how you leave home with plenty of time to get where you're going, because you know the universe conspires against you? There's a reason for that. BECAUSE THE UNIVERSE CONSPIRES AGAINST YOU!
On the way to the doctor, I got to the end of our gravel road, pulled out on the county road where EmBee resides, and started up the big hill. Oh, dear. Near the top, a truck came into view. A panel truck or delivery kind of boxy vehicle, with its flashers on. It was sitting right in the middle of the road. Not exactly. A bit more on my side. Ain't THAT a fine how-do-you-do? How was I supposed to get to my doctor's appointment?
I stopped. A man walked around from the back of the truck. He had on a bright green vest, like a worker man. He walked back behind the truck. Then he stepped out and looked at me again. And waved me around. ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD! ON A BLIND HILL!
Let the record show that this man was by no means at the crest of that hill, where he could see down the other side. He kind of turned that way, and cocked his head like a robin listening for a worm. He motioned again for me to come around his truck. No thank you!
My mother might have raised a slaw-eating tabloid-reader, but she did not raise a foolish fate-tempter!
I backed T-Hoe down that hill, about an eighth of a mile, until I could turn around on the gravel road and head out in a different direction, like when the low-water bridge is flooded. Which brings us to our next tale of the low-water bridge blockade.
I left to get The Pony with time budgeted to arrive about five minutes after the bell. The buses would be gone, and the kids, and I wouldn't be held up by buses on their routes yet. I had seen that the panel truck was gone when I came back from the doctor. Apparently it was part of some crazy county blacktop detail, and had made such big patches that I believe a new resurfacing would have been more economical. Anyhoo...I knew I could go that way to get to Newmentia.
As I approached the low-water bridge, driving along the narrow blacktop where fences on both sides had washed away from our last big rain, I saw a red truck in front of me stop on the low-water bridge. Two men got out, and left their doors wide open, and walked over to the side of the bridge and stood there. Looking. Leaving me parked in the middle of the road, unable to get past their wingspread truck. Eventually they both got back in and took off at the breakneck pace of 25 miles per hour.
I was a bit late to pick up my little Pony. He was sitting in my room in the dark with his head in his hands. I think he was contemplating poetry for his paramour. I gathered up my educational accouterments from their various hiding places, caught up on grades, and we were out of there by 4:30.
I can't take another day off. It's too much work.