After a week or two of waiting until the 11th hour to study and finish projects with the help of several hundred ounces of good ole Folgers being an especially responsible, diligent, studious pupil who carefully paced herself during finals, I was more than ready to spend a relaxing weekend with a friend in Georgia. We found a cute little cabin online and were delighted to find that they were having a Christmas special.
Fast forward to last Sunday. We got turned around a time or two (or seventeen) en route to our rustic mountain getaway, but thanks to our pal Tom-Tom we finally got back on track. Then we ran over a squirrel. There was much screaming, laughing, and weeping, and I looked in the rearview mirror to see the poor rodent flopping around like a fish. We felt guilty for running over the pathetic creature, but decided the most compassionate thing to do would be to crush him under our tires a second time and send him to the happy hunting grounds. In a matter of seconds we turned around and were flying down the mountain to finish off Nutsy. The little booger must have smelled us coming because he peeled himself off the asphalt and scampered off into the forrest. But our tender hearts couldn’t bear the thought of letting him live with an injured paw, so we decided to go it on foot with our slingshots.
I kid. No, we decided it would be more fun to get lost again and find ourselves stuck in a muddy ditch. I was in my white church clothes laughing and taking pictures of the spinning tires when our hero swooped in driving a white Jeep. A little rope, the revving of an engine, a puff of exhaust fumes and all was right once again.
So we made it to the cabin. It was beautiful. Although we were confused by which window looked out over the “breathtaking view.” Tree branches? A gravel road? A barbeque pit? They all take my breath away.
I kid, I kid. It was a perfectly lovely trip. We didn’t encounter a single six-legged creature the entire time. That’s my cup of tea.