I was driving to work in a Category 2 storm when I noticed a bulk tobacco barn –or ‘baccer barn, if you’re so inclined—was missing the entire front of the barn and the ‘baccer was strewn about on the ground. I looked to the right of the barn and caught a glimpse of a little dark car in the ‘baccer field.
The road I was on led to the local high school, so, like the good mom that I am, I said a prayer and turned around. I called my husband who’s in law enforcement, but I couldn’t reach him on any of his ten numbers, so I dialed 911.
And I said another prayer.
Praying that this was an old accident that had already been call in, and if that wasn’t the case, hoping that some man would stop so I could send him out into the field to investigate.
The dispatcher kindly informed me that I was the first. Oh, joy.
I knew what I had to do. I didn’t want too, but I did it anyway.
The dispatcher insisted that I stay on the phone, so I opened the car door and stepped into the driving rain with a purple umbrella that was meant for a martini and my cell phone. Rounding the car, I came to a screeching halt.
There’s a river running beside my car. Not a real river. Not a ditch full of water. Just too much water, running too fast. It was too wide to jump and too far to walk to get around, so I did the only thing I could do, I stepped in it. With my little black flats.
The water was cold, but sucking it up, I slipped and slid my way past the barn, heading for the car. The rows were filled with water, so I did the wise thing and stepped on the hill, sinking my foot up to my ankle in mud. After a few choice words, I pulled my foot up…without my shoe. Now, I’m teetering on one foot (I’ve got my AARP card, so I’m not as agile as I used to be,) holding a martini umbrella, and a cellphone in a Category 2 storm, I did the only thing that I could do…I put my foot down…in the mud…with my sock on.
I think I’m going to be late for work.
After sticking my foot, sock, and mud back into my mud filled shoe, I pressed on. Luckily, the car was empty so I informed the dispatcher and told her I was going home. Heading back to the car, avoiding the hills, because I’m a quick learner, I used that raging river to wash off my shoes. Sliding back into my car, I turned the heater on high—yes, it was August, but I was soaked down to my granny underwear. There was so much mud on my pants, I had to strip on my back porch (hope my neighbors closed their eyes.)
To all those men who drove past me while I was inspecting the ‘baccer field, thanks for nothing.
Whoever owns that little black car, I hope you’re all right. Oh, yeah, and you owe me a pair of little black flats.
