Exeunt, with flourish
The morning went a little like this: I left the house carrying one Beatrice--who was wearing brown pants and a brown coat whose hood has ears, which made me pause for a half-moment to decide whether or not I should put her in different colored pants or a different jacket, lest "people" think I was dressing her up like a bear, but then I thought, I will not be pushed around by the tyranny of "what people think," not when I inadvertently dress my almost 16-month-old daughter to resemble a bear and not any other time, and it was like this great split-second victory that made me excited about the day---and one diaper bag and one work bag filled with books and papers and one set of keys and one travel mug of hot coffee. I put the travel mug on top of the car and the bags in the backseat of the car and the keys in my lap as I buckled Beatrice into her seat. Then I left the diaper bag back there and brought my keys and work bag up front and shut the door and told Beatrice in a jaunty voice to say goodbye to the house! byebye house! and then I put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway, still feeling jaunty and sort of good, and then I heard a thud/splash/thonk, and realized, after first believing that the overhanging branch of the pecan tree had finally come down on top of my car, that yeah, I'd just done that thing where you leave the thing on top of the car and drive away.
At this point, what would you have done? Probably stopped the car, gotten out, and retrieved your cup, right?
I wasn't running late. I happened to like the particular cup I'd just done violence to. I'd been excited to drink the coffee on my way into town, but I could have easily replaced the coffee. The cup was the thing to rescue. Which is why I can't understand what I did next. I'd slowed down when I'd heard the first sounds of cup-on-moving-car, to where it probably looked like I was about to stop and get out. I saw in my rear view mirror tendrils of coffee dripping down my back windshield. And I decided to just go. I accelerated, and as I rounded the corner, I saw the cup laying in the middle of my street, top popped off at last, steaming guts pooling around it.
It really felt like a hit-and-run. And when I turned into my driveway this afternoon, baby bear babbling in the backseat, diaper bag and work bag in the same places they were this morning, I saw the cup, top on but askew, perched on the railing of my back porch. Which means that someone guessed it was mine, or, that someone saw the whole thing go down.
I guess it's good to appall oneself every once in a while.
At this point, what would you have done? Probably stopped the car, gotten out, and retrieved your cup, right?
I wasn't running late. I happened to like the particular cup I'd just done violence to. I'd been excited to drink the coffee on my way into town, but I could have easily replaced the coffee. The cup was the thing to rescue. Which is why I can't understand what I did next. I'd slowed down when I'd heard the first sounds of cup-on-moving-car, to where it probably looked like I was about to stop and get out. I saw in my rear view mirror tendrils of coffee dripping down my back windshield. And I decided to just go. I accelerated, and as I rounded the corner, I saw the cup laying in the middle of my street, top popped off at last, steaming guts pooling around it.
It really felt like a hit-and-run. And when I turned into my driveway this afternoon, baby bear babbling in the backseat, diaper bag and work bag in the same places they were this morning, I saw the cup, top on but askew, perched on the railing of my back porch. Which means that someone guessed it was mine, or, that someone saw the whole thing go down.
I guess it's good to appall oneself every once in a while.