Santa’s off-season meltdown

Recommended wine for today’s entry: Cline Zinfandel, a California product described on the Cline Cellars Website as, “a wide array of dark berry fruit including black cherry and raspberry. Additionally, spice notes and a lasting finish of vanilla from oak aging and firm, supple tannins add complexity to this wine.” My friend Tippi would (and probably has) enjoy this wine!

 

My loyal readers will remember the story of my friend Tippi pushing a cooler all the way to her daughter’s high school (and home again) during the poor daughter’s first week as a freshman. If not, you can access it here: https://ashleyolsonrosen.wordpress.com/2009/10/19/oh-the-humiliating-things-mothers-can-do/

 

Well, it seems Tippi has been toting things again… here is her story of the way her day started today.

 

I love it when my readers send in their own freakish life stories!

 

TIPPI AND A FRIEND TAKE ON THE MORNING RUSH (in her own words…)

 

This morning, on the way to work, I thought I heard a weird scraping noise, but chose to ignore it.

When I got to the expressway, some three miles from home, a very handsome man in a BMW pulled up behind me at a stoplight and got out of his car and said, “you know a package fell out of your car some ways back?”

Of course that was impossible as all my doors were locked.

But I thought about it, and I thought about the noise, and so I went back, retracing my route, and what did I find? There right in front of the church daycare — the enormous church daycare, for all the little traumatized kids to see — was a lifesize, bigger than me, Santa Claus that my sister in law had given me as a gift some years ago. 

Apparently when backing out of the garage, somehow my car had snagged poor Santa from his storage spot, drove him all the way up my street, up the twisty, windy two-lane road, made the turn onto the U.S. Highway, and then, just when the time was right, he bailed out right in front of the church daycare.

There  he proceeded to get run over — apparently repeatedly — by cars. The ones who elected not to hit him, as he is (was) way over 5 feet tall, must have swerved fairly widely, thus endangering rush-hour drivers and the poor tots on their way to daycare.

I am sure the kiddies will never be the same after seeing Santa slaughtered.

But the adventure wasn’t over.

When I got to work, my car was smoking. I was, of course, certain that the culprit was the air bag that has gone haywire that Toyota refuses to fix. So I am thinking I am about to die; the wires are melting the airbag. Explosion is imminent.

I pull into an auto repair place and explain the situation about the airbag malfunction and my intended (or survivors)  lawsuit against Toyota.

The guy leans over and pulls something out from under the car. Voila!  A plastic melted part of Santa, still smoldering.  

If Seinfeld’s Eileen wasn’t patterned after my life, it should have been.