RNG — A local father found himself burdened by diaper bags, stroller, and a large sack of primary coloured plastic junk, driving yet again towards the road closure that he knew would be in place for the next week. The signage was unmistakable, blinking and flashing, taking up much of the shoulder, yet he drove by blithely, quietly humming, “I’m a Woman, W-O-M-A-N”, and then out loud, “I’ll Say it AGAIN”…
He congratulated himself that he didn’t forget the kids on the roof of the car (he checked), and felt a spasm of panic about his wallet. But no, there it was, under the sippy cup, right next to the 40 pound bag of snacks, bum wipes, Penaten, and his mobile phone, nearly dead of course, but still binging alerts about the location of the International Space Station.
As he passed the Brobdingnagian sign he was presented with the pastoral vision of two deer grazing in the field and was left with a gentle feeling. He looked in the mirror, glancing at the kids, both dozing off now. Ah, he thought, everything’s under control thanks to his incredible multi-tasking efforts.
Suddenly he noticed the road closure sign receding into the distance. He yelped an expletive and made a quick stop and course reversal across a double solid line. In his haste he upset the sippy cup onto his leg, felt its cold drip, and realized he had forgotten to put on pants.
Defeated, he drove back home and spent the next 20 minutes looking for them, but then the kids woke up. He couldn’t remember why he had been heading into town now, so he turned on The Price is Right and spiked his coffee with rum. He wouldn’t recall his mission until his wife drove in at 5pm. Then he’d concoct a convoluted tale so pathetic that she would let him off the hook just to end the embarrassment of having to listen to him yammer. Ultimately, the blame must fall upon the Road Closure, anyway. Right?