I noticed none of you mentioned, but this weekend is a Very Special weekend. Some might argue—quite rightly—that it’s the most special weekend in the whole calendar year. And you were just going to let it go completely unremarked-upon.
IT’S MAH BIRTHDAY WEEKEND!!!
That’s right, it’s that magical time of year when we celebrate the miracle that is me*. And this year we’re righting an ancient wrong
Lemme back up. See, before we moved to Wisconsin to live the Frozen Northern Dream (shudder) we lived in Practically Chicago,** which was also where Husband worked. (He still worked there while we lived in Wisconsin, so you can imagine how we laugh at people who complain about 20 minute commutes.) Anyway, the whole time we lived there, we never really got to see much of The City for a variety of reasons (mostly an aversion to appearing touristy) but one really stuck out in my memory and created a bitter little seed that flourished over the years. We were taking Kevin and his wee fuck trophy out for a day at the Field Museum along with Offspring, who is only a couple of years older. All in all, it was an excellent plan, except… we passed the Shedd on the way there, and I was sick of walking (someone had directed us to the wrong freakin’ stop) and I suggested we go to the Shedd instead as I hadn’t been and—while it lacked dinosaurs—it would have loads of fun things for everyone.
But no, Kevin explained, for he had promised his wife years ago that he would go with her for her first trip to the Shedd. And so, since she hadn’t been yet, I couldn’t go.
I’ll be honest: I never liked her.
Look, I’m not knocking the Field Museum. It’s amazing and everyone should go if they get the chance.
Am I bitter about the Shedd?
Did I ever get around to going after that day?
Do I sort of blame Kevin and the Field Museum for the 3-day migraine I developed that afternoon, and the fact that I was forced to walk through humid Chicago summer and sit through a patio meal with all the noisy drinkers and traffic while everyone else enjoyed themselves pretending my brainskull wasn’t trying to murder me?
So when Husband asked me what I wanted to do for this milestone birthday***—probably thinking I’d name a restaurant or (ahem) indoor activity, bless—I thought for almost a full minute before I demanded to be chauffeured all the way back up to Chicago for a goddamned grown-up weekend with cool people and to finally go to the Shedd.
So unless you’re even lazier than usual (oh, how proud you’d make me then!) and still in bed… as you read this, I’m on the road.
In the car that just had its first ever accident.
Oh yeah, so that happened.
There we were, typical stop-and-go city traffic on the highway when BAM. Rear-ended. And not even in the—nope, sorry, you deserve better than that joke. My bad. Anyway, we’ve been burned on an accident like this before (clearly other driver was at fault as we were stopped when he slammed into our back bumper but the insurance company threw up their hands and cried, “who can say? Let’s just raise everyone’s rates and call it even” so Husband calmly explained why he needed to call the police to file a report. She was already on the phone with her Daddy.
Everyone’s fine, except Daddy, who was kind of a dick to us (yes, as a matter of fact, we do think the damage needs to be repaired. I can see you don’t think bumpers are particularly important but temp tags = IT’S GETTING FIXED MOTHERFUCKER)
Besides, the car isn’t really the point, is it? I mean, I like it and all—it gets us where we need to go (Chicago!) but this blog isn’t called Actual Drives In My Car, is it?
You’re here for the conversation we were having when Driving In Flip-flops smashed into us.
ME: Audrey says there’ll be kids at the Shedd.
HIM: On a Saturday? Probably.
ME: Don’t they know it’s my birfday?!
HIM: … I’m sorry.
ME: I figured they all go on field trips and things so they won’t want to go on a Saturday. Also, it’s a holiday weekend. Don’t they have family shit to do?
HIM: It could go either way.
ME: I mean, don’t they have grandparents and Easter bunnies to pet and eggs to paint?
HIM: If they have responsible adult supervision then yes, they should have those things.
HIM: And if they don’t have that… somebody gonna drown.
ME: I guarantee it.
ME: You know me well enough you should have seen that coming.
HIM: Oh, I did. You didn’t think I meant accidental drowning, did you?
ME: Not if I have anything to say about it.
Not to worry, folks. The kidlings aren’t in much danger.
My hotel? Has three bars.
* Now I know it’s not only my birfday. There’s a nonzero chance—if you’re an exceptionally cool person—that this weekend contains your birfday too. And I have a present for you:
** It’s a whole… You know what? It’s not the point. You’re not here for geography lessons; you’re here because you think I’m a hilarious drunk. And you’re not wrong.
*** Nice try, but I’m not telling you how old