Prudence Is Pouting

Prudence thought that she had dinner plans tonight. Prudence did, in fact, have dinner plans tonight -- and not just go-to-a-restaurant-and-give-them-money-in-exchange-for-food plans, either. Prudence would have gone to Her Friend's House, and Her Friend would have cooked.

You've noticed, right, that I'm using past passive conditional? Good. Now define it.

It all started with (yet another) dentist appointment. This one to get her stitches out. Prudence's appointment was at 9:00, and she had to drive to get there, because you can't get to the Dentist's Office on Public Transportation. Well, you can, but it involves Buses, which Prudence Doesn't Do.

So she drove. She'd been told that taking stitches out takes twenty minutes, which left her plenty of time to drive Chuck (TFT) back to his usual parking spot and take the T -- the real T -- to work as usual. And then from there on to her dinner date with Home-Cooking Friend. But the Dentist wasn't ready for her until 9:50, so she had to drive Chuck (TFT) to Beacon Hill.

And then it snowed.

Apparently, this was predicted. Prudence p'shawed it, because that's what Prudence does. She's lived in New England her whole life. She strings popcorn and cranberries, for heaven's sake. She used to drive from the Pioneer Valley all the way to Cambridge at ten p.m. in raging blizzards just to watch the Rocky Horror Picture Show and race the sunrise back to school. She was not afraid of what the weathermen predicted might be (gasp) a half-a-foot of powder-fluff.

But apparently she was the only one.

First Prudence was told by her Nice Lady to go home from work at 1:00, and Lady wouldn't take no for an answer. With nothing to do between then and dinnertime, she called Her Friend and asked if she could come to dinner early. Like, right now. Her Friend also insisted she go home. And so, alas, she did.

Or so she tried.

And so she cried.

Having hopped into Chuck (TFT) at 1:18 precisely, Prudence cried for the first time at 3:12. You can hardly blame her. She'd only travelled a whopping mile and a half, and the Burger Meister wouldn't let her use the facilities in his establishment unless she purchased something. The whole reason she had to use them in the first place was because she'd already had too many Diet Cokes, so she was forced to eat french fries for dinner instead of Homemade Food. Sniff. Poor her.

Prudence cried for the second time at 4:08, while leaving a message for her husband so he wouldn't be concerned. That was effective. He was working, anyway, which is why he wasn't there to take the call, and in the end he wouldn't even hear the message, either, because Prudence beat him home.

Yes, in fact, to make a long story somewhat shorter, let's cut to that point right there, which is roughly now: Prudence got home, shovelled herself into the driveway, and fell through the door at long last at precisely twenty minutes after five. Almost four hours exactly from the moment she stepped in the car.

Did I mention that this trip was all of a dozen miles? No, I didn't think I had.

Her husband walked in, through no fault of his own, two minutes later. Just as she was deleting her psychotic messages from the answering machine. And then he went out to help the single-mom across the street shovel herself in.

Prudence loves him for being so thoughtful and considerate. She thinks he's just swellacious. But she can't help but want to punch him in the throat for not having arrived ten minutes earlier and helping her.


Why is it that cold weather makes me want to drink Kahlua with milk?

Mm. That is one fine sombrero.

Oh yeah, so PS: I'm not finishing the tree this evening, either.

Tomorrow, I swear to god and Baby Jebo.