My son has been obsessing over a futon my friend Lori offered to us. In his mind, with the addition of this college-like decor, his room would be “boss”. He told me that means it would be cool. The problem is that I have a Honda, not even a SUV, just a sedan. I love my car but it barely fits two growing boys, a dog and me, much less anything else. So after a few scheduling snafus, a date was set to pick up the futon. Lori has three college aged boys who broke in the futon for us, but fortunately did not destroy it and their mom’s housecleaning was Adam’s gain. So Saturday morning I drove with the boys to Home Depot and rented a large van for the futon frivolity and headed out to the parking lot to start our drive to Marietta. I opened the door to climb in and saw only two seats…two seat belts…three of us.
I walked back into the rental office and explained that I kind of like my youngest child and didn’t think it would be safe to put him in the back of the van unrestrained. My oldest son, Adam, disagreed saying he thought sticking his little brother behind the divider cage like a rabid dog was a GREAT idea. I shot him a grumpy look but the man waiting next to us just shrugged and said he would probably risk it too. It’s a wonder that all men are not brain injured by the time they are thirty. The clerk re-printed the paperwork and handed me the keys to a big truck instead. I had already checked it out to make sure it had a bench seat and three seat belts. I am crazy like that.
We headed onto Georgia 400 southbound and clung to the far right lane as my foot was practically standing on the accelerator to get the truck up to 65 mph. I announced that this was going to be a “fun adventure” to distract myself from the terror I was feeling at driving something the size of The Grave Digger. It felt weird to be up so high in traffic but going so slow. Yes, 65 is the speed limit, but Atlanta drivers often confuse 400 for the Atlanta Motor Speedway. I could only imagine what the other drivers were thinking when they saw me driving in my big truck. I felt like I should be wearing aviator glasses, a John Deere hat and have a cool CB moniker, like Big Momma or Peaches. I am pretty sure they were just shaking their heads and laughing at me.
I finally eased the truck off of the highway and into Marietta, pulling to a stop in front of Lori’s house, my last shred of dignity still intact. I didn’t even fall out of the truck when I shoved the door open! I estimated it was a good 8 feet or so to the ground, at least it felt that way. With the help of Lori’s boys and husband, we got the futon and mattress tied down and covered by a tarp since the bruised sky was threatening to unleash buckets of water at any moment (perfect!). As we climbed back into the cab, Lori came running out with her camera in hand. “Oh wait, oh wait! I have got to get a picture of this. No one will believe me!” she cried with glee. Great. Now there is proof. But if she calls me a mother trucker at work, I really can’t be held responsible for what happens.
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So now you have to post the picture, so we can get another good laugh.
Post that picture, Peaches. Waiting anxiously!