I'd like a do-over on today, please, God, if it isn't too much to ask.
I got the pleasure of driving four fifth graders to the Larkspur Ferry today for a field trip. They rode the boat from San Francisco and back. That was the field trip. Oh, in between they decorated it for Christmas and played ferry bingo.
Me? I got Chatty Cathy as one of my passengers to the ferry. This kid is never quiet. Nevah, nevah, nevah. Now, coming from a talker such as myself, that's saying a lot.
And on the ferry, I had some kind of major-ass allergic reaction to something. I've never had this happen before. ["Boo-hoo," those of you with allergies say as you wipe crocodile tears from your face.] I couldn't stop sneezing. My eyes wouldn't stop watering. It was horrific. I scared the crap out of everyone on the boat.
When we stopped at San Francisco, I went up top to get some clean air in me. That seemed to help, as the ride back on the boat was fairly easy.
Back in the car, though, it started up again with a vengeance. I floored it 'cause all I wanted to do was get rid of those kids and get some Benadryl going. I didn't bother telling the CHP officer that, though, when he pulled me over, although the kids encouraged me to explain why I was speeding. I modeled very good behavior regarding how to act when pulled over for speeding. I like to think of it as a field trip bonus for my lucky passengers!
I fessed up to the teacher, and then I hurried home to pop some Benadryl and send an email to the parents before they heard it from the kids themselves. I didn't tell them how fast I was going. On the up side, that might get me banned from being a field trip driver. On the down side, that might get me nasty calls from parents.
Does that merit a do-over, yet? No? I'll continue.
Remember I've got a spankin' new doctor? He sent me for lab work Friday. My orthopedic doctor noted a very low thyroid number, so he was doing regular annual crap plus more on the thyroid. "Assuming everything is fine, you'll get a letter. If there's anything way out of the ordinary, we'll get together again."
His office called at about 5 o'clock tonight. I need to see him first thing in the morning. And, no, the receptionist wouldn't give up any information. Believe me, I asked. I told her I'd known going in something was up, so I wasn't that surprised. She tried to cheer me up by saying, "Oh, if it was really bad news, he'd call you himself." I'm not sure I buy that, but I'll keep telling myself that as I toss and turn this evening.
Now, how about that do-over?