After a two hour delay, we were off to Indiana and I snuggled in next to My Babe for a please-let-me-sleep nap. I awoke from a slight snooze to the sound of screaming -definitely not something you want to hear on an airplane. I hear a fizzing sound and immediately think we have blown a gasket or a terrorist has unleashed a serious gas bomb and we are going down. I look back to see the flight attendant crouching on the floor, holding a spewing object. Turns out it was only a Coke.
The rest of the flight was uneventful and we arrived at the car rental place. We go through the usual of declining insurance coverage, declining the gas tank fill-up, declining the upgrade, just give me the car already, declining the convertible...wait...convertible? So, we splurge, telling ourselves that grandpa will really like it. I almost back out when she says the car is orange, which is a complete and utter no-no in my Aggie family, but we proceed with the papers and head out to the ever so flashy car. Anyone that knows me can tell you that I strive 99% of the day to NOT be noticed and nothing helps out that phobia like an orange convertible. We should have twitched just a little when we could not fit our suitcase in the trunk, nor in the back of the car with the top up. But, noooo, we proceed. I get into the extremely low seats, cannot see a damn thing, sit on my Mogu, put on my huge you-can't-see-me sunglasses, and prepare myself for a flurry of looks as people encounter the burnt-orange bomb. I'm terrified as we pull out onto the highway because:
1) I've never been in a convertible. On the highway.
2) In light of recent events, car accidents are always on my mind.
3) I keep playing a roll over, smashed head scene in my mind.
4) I'm waaaaay exposed in this car. People can see me.
My Babe, master of distraction, questions me:
My Babe: "Do you know why that street is called 'Stop 13'?"
Me: "I have no idea."
My Babe: "Well, a long time ago, there used to be a railroad system here and this was (you guessed it) Stop 13 for the trains."
Me (approaching another stop light): "Hmmm...interesting."
My Babe: "Do you know why that street is called 'Stop 11'?"
We push through and arrive at the nursing home. The guest quarters rival hotels in which we have stayed...very nice to say the least. We venture over to grandpa's room and decide to take him out to supper, wheelchair and all. I pull the car around to the front, top down, smiling, knowing this is going to be great. Grandpa settles in the front and we proceed to fold the wheelchair...that doesn't fit in the car. Immediately tickle machine kicks in and we cannot stop laughing uncontrollably as we try to maneuver around the wheelchair beast. Finally, I squeeze in the backseat, half on/half off the seat. My Babe folds himself into an accordion, gets in the driver's side, and we're off - still completely hysterical as the wheelchair is sticking up 3 feet in the air, wheels flapping in the wind. Did I mention I do not like to draw attention to myself? Ultimately, the orange beauty gave us a ton of laughs and grandpa liked the sun and wind on him. We also took My Babe's grandma for a spin as she carefully protected her hair with my jacket. I grew fond of the convertible, comfortable with the top down, but never in love with the color.
And now, we are back home with good news to report on the reproduction front. I had a size 22mm follicle today and a plump lining. Give it up for the herbs! We'll do the Ovidrel shot to release the follicle tonight and IUI on Monday. For now, I'm tired. Planes, trains, automobiles, and follicles have me spent.