The girls asked to try oysters at supper. What they wanted were pearls. What they got were slimy, salty mounds of mollusk meat. They have decided they no longer care for oysters. I remain baffled.
Of course, as we were leaving Fat Tuna, the bottom fell out of the storm. Due to poor visibility, My Eldest misjudged her airborne entry into the side door of the Family Truckster, causing her shin to collide with the doorframe and sending her leather flip flop careering into the newly formed swale roiling through the parking lot. As I bent to retrieve it, my right quadruceps muscle seized itself into a charley horse. In a fit of pain and surprise, I bent forward, smacking the goose egg on my forehead (acquired from an earlier collision with Hannah’s frontal bone) into the self-same door frame which had mere seconds before declared war on My Eldest’s shin.
Paralyzed by the conflicting messages in my brain; “Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow!”, “Get the shoe. Got the shoe. Get the shoe in the car!”, and “Wet. Wet. Wet. Wet. Wet. ICK!”, I was aware only of the sound of whimpering (Mine? Hannah’s?) and the sensation of countless thick, heavy raindrops pelting my back. Thankfully, the vice grip in my leg released and I was able to clamber into the van in the completely graceless fashion to which I have become accustomed. By the time we reached Fawlty Towers, I was drenched and freezing.
I am delighted to report that I am now both dry and warm, and looking forward to an early night’s sleep. May the odds be ever in my favor…
