In which Blue uses many italics

Wow what an exciting trip!

It was ... interesting. Really really interesting.

Imagine if you will a classic left-seater, a guy who's used to being in command, in control, and out front. A bloke who only feels truely safe if he's driving.

Now, imagine that same person recovering from a horrible auto accident, in which he was NOT driving and stuck in a car - as a passenger again - for four-and-a-half hours.

Toss in the fact that the driver of said vehicle is this bloke's only offspring who, frankly, drives just like he does: like she's Awsome Bill fum Dawsonville on a good day.

Synopsis: It was like a sit-com featuring two tense, crabby, PMS-ing women ... in a speeding car.
Dad whinged on about my speed and then we were almost run down by those lovely Charlotte commuters when I tried to drive the speed limit. He pointed out every single turn on a route that I've come to be able to drive in my sleep. We argued over how best to get to a place that served macaroni and cheese even though we didn't know where it was or if it even existed. We almost ran out of petrol while I searched, Scrooge McDuck-like, for a station that had the best prices. Dad finally got so exasperated he just ordered me into the next service station.

But the highlight of the trip came when I tried to roll my invalid father out into traffic.

Yes, you read that correctly.

We had stopped at a petrol station on the edge of Albemarle ($2.26 per gallon! I almost died), and I got out to start the pump. I leaned back in the car and got some money for drinks and a paper for Dad and then went inside (remember that the fuel hose is still connected ...)

So I'm inside standing in line, clutching our drinks, ready to get the HELL out of there, choking on the noxious fumes from this withered up old cow who's smoking right next to the register and Dad's sitting in the Explorer looking down through his Bag o' Stuff. Well, out of the corner of his eye he sees movement. He thinks it's the guy next to us pulling out.

Wrong.

It's him. He's rolling.

Yes! Blue, who no longer drives a stick because of her knee, had accidently left the freakin' car out of gear and it was slowly rolling away from the pump.

Unable to use his leg to stomp on the brake, Dad had to lean over and press the brake with his hand. By the time I got back he was sitting calmly, the Explorer about 3 feet away from the pump, and the hose was - amazingly - stretched to it's full length but not taut.

The rest of the trip after that was not nearly as interesting.

We got home safe and sound and exhausted. By the time we arrived we were both in so much leg pain that we contemplated just sleeping in the car in the driveway. But we made it inside, had something to eat, unloaded all of Dad's stuff, and passed out.

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Update: Thursday morning.

We're getting on fine here at Chez Bleu. We've shifted some furniture, made a few adjustments. Dad's had hot eggs, toast, and coffee and a loooooooong hot shower. He's been closely inspected, questioned, and followed by four curious small persons. We're doing quite well.