Yellow Jackets

Anyone who knows me very well, knows that I don’t like bees, wasps, hornets, or anything that flies and stings. This distain for these creatures of Lucifer began at a very young age. I think the first time was when my brother Steven, his friend Joey, and I were whacking blackberry bushes behind our house. We were blazing a trail through the bushes leading into the forest. Steven was in front, Joey was behind him, as I trailed behind. I was in the middle of showing one of the branches who was boss when suddenly I found myself standing in a swarm of angry Yellow Jackets. Apparently they did not like that Joey had crushed their “Pad” and they were out for revenge. I knew I was in for a good time as soon as I felt 12 simultaneous stings from the tips of my toes to the back of my retinas. I sprinted home screaming as if I was being chased by a pride of hungry lions.

Those Yellow Jackets stung me 13 times. That was nothing compared the damage one Yellow Jacket would inflict two weeks before the start of ninth grade. My friend Jeremy and I were headed to his grandma’s house across town. He was on a faded Huffy his parents bought him in the sixth grade. I, on the other hand, looked like Lance Armstrong riding my older brother’s 21 speed “Sakai” mountain bike. I had full use of his bike as restitution for the blackberry incident, plus he was away with the scouts for the week which automatically also gave me permission to use all of his stuff.

His bike handled like a dream as I sped down the hills, racing around hairpin turns with the greatest of ease. I had my tape player hooked firmly to my fanny pack listening to “Ice, Ice, Baby”. With the wind blowing through my hair and Vanilla Ice blasting over my headphones, I pushed the bike to its limits. As I was enjoying the rush of adrenaline and exhilaration on the hot August afternoon ride, a bug hit me like a bullet in the chest. I looked down to see what had hit me when to my surprise I saw a raging Yellow Jacket lifting it’s stinger into position for his assault. In one fluid motion, I swatted the Yellow Jacket away with both hands.

“Whew… got it.”

With victory written on my face, I reached down just in time to see the handle bars turn 90 degrees.

“Ohh, fiddlesticks!” I profaned.

I snapped my eyes closed and clinched every part in my body bracing for the impact.

I hit the unforgiving pavement with full force. I felt the bare skin of my forearm grind against the hot asphalt. To avoid grinding my left arm off, I relaxed and began doing summersaults. As I wrapped up my Circ’ de sole act, Jeremy raced over to me.

“Are you okay!?!” he shouted.

“Uhhgg” I gasped in a failed attempt to speak while having the wind knocked out of me.

When I finally was able to speak, I told Jeremy that I didn’t think I would be able to finish the ride and that we needed to go back.

“Sorry Brandon, I told my grandma I would be there by five. See ya later, bye.” He said as he grabbed his bike and peddled off into the distance.

As I lay sprawled out across both lanes of traffic on the blind corner, praying a car would come and take me out of my misery, I saw two county workers standing around kicking rocks by a bridge at the bottom of the hill. I gathered myself and limped down to them. As soon as one of the workers saw my condition, he rushed over to assist me.

“Hey buddy, do you need help? I have a first aid kit in my truck. Let me go grab it.”

Just then the other worker shouted, “We don’t have time to play around. Let’s get this wrapped up so we can go home.”

I watched in disbelief as the Good Samaritan strolled away.

I took a moment to assess myself. I had two sprained wrists, a sprained ankle, a one inch gash on my forehead, and a shredded arm from my elbow to wrist. Knowing I was on my own, I started the long trek home.

Two hours later, I arrived back at home. As I stepped on the lawn, my knees buckled. Me and the bike fell to the ground having both sustained heavy damage. After a few moments, I looked down at my fanny pack. My tape player was gone!

“Great! What am I going to listen to MC Hammer on now?!?” I asked in exasperation.

Umm, do you have a car in the shape of a fish tank?

When I was in high school I drove my older bother's truck while he was away on his mission.  I think it was a ’90 Toyota pickup.  It was beautiful and it had a rockin' sound system. I vividly remember driving around in the summer’s heat with the window rolled down bumpin’ Warren G “Regulators”. This was followed up with Erasure, Depeche Mode, Smashing Pumpkins, and Garth Brooks. It was an eclectic mix of music to say the least. 

Not only did the truck look good and sound good but it also had a rear license plate cover that read, “My name is Brandon and I’d rather be scoring.” The first time my dad read it, he gave me that sharp piercing gaze and demanded in that angry father tone, “Take that off!”

“What do you mean dad?” I said naively.

“Mike Meacham (an adult leader from church) gave it to me because I like basketball.”

That was the last time it was ever mentioned it and the plate cover stayed. The license plate cover did however continue to cause a stir.  I remember on more than one occasion looking through my rear view mirror watching people in the car behind me with their sides splitting. I don’t know what is so funny about making baskets.

Unfortunately, my brothers two years came and went in a flash. He quickly reclaimed the truck leaving me without wheels.

One afternoon, my mom walked into the living room while I was watching TV.

“Brandon, do you want to go out and look for a car?"

I whipped my head 180 degrees with my body still facing forward watching Pickett Fences.

I was so excited at the prospect of climbing behind the wheel of a souped up muscle car my heart nearly burst in my chest. I could just imagine myself out with a beautiful girl in my arm speeding down the interstate.  I hurried and gathered my mix tapes and shot out the door knocking my sister over like a bowling pin hit by a freight train.

“MOVE!” I blasted as she took a plunge disapearing into a giant Juniper bush.  

We soon arrived at an enormous parking lot filled with cars. The cars were sparkling in the afternoon sun. I walked through the mile long rows of beautiful cars with my mouth agape. There were hundreds of cars to choose from. Then I started looking at the sticker prices.

$15,000… $20,000… $25,000…

A greasy man on a flannel suit came over and offered us a helping hand and a yellow stained tooth grin.

“Hiya folks, how are you doing today? Anything in particular you’re looking for?"

“Well, I want something sporty but not too lavish.” I proclaimed.

Dad quickly interjected, “… with no bells or whistles”.

 “How much you lookin to spend”, he inquired.  

 “What’s the cheapest thing you got?”

“Hmmm… let me think…”

“I think we have a car in your price range.”  

We walked across the lot …

 Opps wrong car. Actually, it looked like this-

After all the wheeling and dealing was done, I was headed home in my ’86 Toyota Fish tank.

I had the all treble radio (apparently the previous owner had a custom treble only radio installed) blasting when suddenly the gearshift jumped out of gear. 

Clunk…

I quickly shoved it back in gear.

Clunk…

It popped out of gear again. 

I quickly found that the car wouldn’t stay in gear on its own. Everywhere I drove I had to hold the shifter in gear.

One evening as I was driving out of my neighborhood, I spotted a crazy stalker sitting in his car watching everyone in the neighborhood come and go. I gave a curious glance at him and continued on my way.  As I continued driving, I saw the suspicious man pull out and start following me. I quickly put the pedal to the medal and took off like the Starship Enterprise at warp speed. Well, actually more like a sick cow with terrible arthritis and a bad hip.

The lunatic quickly caught up to me and pulled up in the lane of oncoming traffic. He began starring me down as if I was some sort of arch nemesis of his. Fortunately, after a several minutes of sheer terror, the man turned back around and drove back to his stalking post.  

Later that same night, my friend Wyatt and I were headed downtown. As we were driving, I went to shift gears but the car wouldn’t go into gear anymore. We were stuck on the side of a busy road. 

Wyatt declared, “Wow! If your car had broken down a couple hours earlier you would probably be lying in a ditch right now.”

“Ohh man. That would have sucked.” I chuckled.

 I later found out that my clutch broke. I have heard of them wearing out but I have never heard of one breaking before. Nonetheless I spent the next two weeks after school pulling out the transmission with my hair rolling around in kitty litter and transmission fluid.

Soon after I repaired the clutch I headed up to Rexburg for College. I had been there for a couple of weeks when my car started smoking. I quickly learned that my car another problem. Apparently, radiator fluid was leaking into the motor. Everywhere I drove, the car blasted out white smoke like a Boeing 747 at 40,000 feet. The smoke was so thick that it blocked all visibility in both lanes of traffic.  Since I didn’t have any money to fix it, this was how I drove to school every day. You can imagine all the girls checking me out as I drove around in my smoking fish tank with my treble stereo blasting Hootie and the Blowfish. That car was a chick magnet. Only it repelled girls rather than attracting them. 

Horse Trip- Part 2- The Beginning

Now we were all experienced cowboys that had two or even an unfathomable three training sessions (though some of the training sessions were cut short do to some minor medical issues. [Three concussions, a broken foot, two bruised ribs, and a torn esophagus] Fortunately, they were all things we could walk off).

We met at Ray’s house to get an early start (2:30am) due to the nine hour drive and five hour horseback trek into the mountainous wilderness. We packed up the three crew cab Fords with our equipment while the rattle of the diesel engines got our blood pumping in anticipation. As we loaded up the trucks, Ray (a 5’2, 85 pound, 76 year old) was busy loading 18 livid horses into trailers under the brilliant light of a few twinkling stars.

We couldn’t see anything! We heard the deep raging percussion of the horses as they kicked the walls of the trailer while belting out piercing neighs as if they were headed to slaughter. Then we heard Ray yell out from deep inside the trailer,

“Ahh… shut yer yapper. You think yur gonna kick me do yi? I’ll kick yi right back.”

After Ray got all the horses loaded up, we hit the road. The excitement quickly wore off and all the boys passed out in exhaustion as the convoy of trucks headed into the darkness.

Once we arrived at our destination, we started unloading the lethargic and unusually docile horses.  As we were finishing up saddling the horses and loading up the pack mules, I looked over and saw Hoss (one of the two bonafide juvenile delinquents in our group) poking a sharp stick in the crotch of the most wild horse (Buckshot) of the bunch (which is saying a lot, as most of the horses were wild).

Buckshot was not enjoying it very much. He started rearing up on his front feet high into the air while kicking. Someone shouted at Hoss to stop and he moved along to the next horse. When the time came to get on our horses, I looked over at Dave as he was trying to climb onto Buckshot. Buckshot was kicking and flailing and refused to let Dave get on.

“What’s wrong with this stupid horse?!? It won’t let me get near it!”

Dave then spent the next 20 minutes trying to calm his horse. Once he had calmed Buckshot to a mild buck, he climbed on and we all headed off.

On the trail, the group of boys quickly split into two packs. The lead pack was headed up by Billy. He was riding a wild Mustang that was built for speed.  Since Billy had no clue how to slow his wild horse down he sprinted off into the forest.  I took off in hot pursuit. About 15 minutes down the trail, I saw Billy approaching a fallen tree. Most of the branches had been broken off at about five or six feet. However, there was one broken branch that hung like a dagger right in the middle of the path. As his horse sprinted toward the tree he tried to lay down as flat as he could against the horse’s back.  I felt myself cringe as I watched the sharp edge of the branch scrape against the nape of his neck grabbing his shirt by the collar and ripping the entire back of it clean off. He was left with two sleeves connected to a bib. His shirt had turned into a hospital gown in one fell swoop.  I quickly caught up to him to assess the damage.

“Are you ok… hahaha… I thought you were going to get decapitated…hahaha…”

As Billy turned around to let me see the damage, I noticed the branch scrapped him from his neck to his belt line.  

“I like the new zipper you’re sporting down the middle of your back…hahaha…” I cracked.

We hopped back on our horses and tore off down the trail again.

About a mile down the trail, we came to an enormous flat sloping rock in the middle of the trail. There was no way around it. There was a sheer cliff on the left side and a wall of dirt on the right.  It was about ten feet long, flat and looked like polished marble. It was at a steep angle sloping down the cliff.   

Billy- “I bet I can beat you to the top of the hill.”

“That rock face looks pretty precarious. I think we should wait in case we slide off the cliff. Then at least they will know that we met our demise.” I said.

“Boooo, you’re no fun Ard!”he jeered.

We waited for the adults to see what they wanted up to do.  As soon as Ray saw it he said,

“That ain’t nuttin. Yul be fine. Jist go.”

So, Billy backed up to get a running start.

Clop, clop, clop, clop…

His horse cruised over the rock easily. We all got a good running start and crossed over with no problems. That was until it was one of the pack mules turn.

This particular pack mule was so heavy laden with our food and gear he couldn't build up any speed.

Clop, clop,..screeeeeetch…

I looked back and saw Benny the mule standing frozen in the middle of the rock sliding sideways. He had this look on his face as if to say, “I hate you guys!!! I hope you all die a terrible death!”

Then Benny dropped out of sight.  

Thump..bang…crash…

We walked over to the edge of the cliff expecting to see Benny at the bottom of the hill. To our amazement, we looked over and saw Benny standing on a ledge… packless. As we looked further down the hill, we saw a third of our food all over on the forest floor as if it had been dropped out of an airplane.

One kid yell’s out, “My mom’s new camera!!! She’s going to kill me. Let me go check if it’s okay.”

“It’s gone. You are not going down there to get it.” one of the leaders snapped.

We got Benny back up and across the obstacle. The only problem was that the next one to cross the rock was riding an old donkey (Jenny).

Ray called out, “It’s yer turn Josh, go!”

Josh had the least experience out of all of us. That was why he was riding the slowest animal. This had been to his advantage until now. Josh got Jenny up to a lazy trot when he hit the rock. Jenny quickly lost her footing and began to slide. All of our hearts dropped into our stomachs. Right as Jenny was about to go airborne with Josh as her passenger to oblivion, Jenny took one last desperate leap and made in to the edge of the solid ground.

“Great, let’s get goin.” Ray said casually.

We soon arrived at our camping spot. It was beautiful. We camped right on the edge of crystal clear lake surrounded by trees and snow covered mountains in the background.

“Time for some adventure!” someone exclaimed.   

Strikin' Paydirt

I have recently came into a large sum of money due to my hard work and business acumen. And to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure how to reinvest it. So, any (free) investment advice would be greatly appreciated.
You can try this yourself if you would like to make a little cash (legally) on the side for only a few minutes of work (I use the term work very loosely).
Last week, as I was headed to work, I came up on a school bus that was stopped to pick up a group of grade-schoolers. I, of course, stopped to allow the likely dubious ruffians to herd themselves like cattle into the bus. As I was sitting there wondering why it was taking those hooligans so long to get on the bus and sit down, I looked in my rear view mirror and saw a Saturn (the car, not the planet) coming straight at me with its wheels locked up, smoking like it's tires were on fire.
I frightfully profaned, “%&@#, I’M A DEAD MAN!!!”
Golly gee wilikers, the joy of knowing you are one slow-motion second away from getting smacked like a Tiger Woods golf ball. (Well, the positive side of this was that I was going to get to meet all those nice little boys and girls when my car gets parked right in the middle their school bus.)
Fortunately, I was calmed by the elderly ladies well manicured fingernails that were glued to her wide open mouth.
…SKREEEECH…BAMMM!!!
I felt the impact lunge me forward as my brain bounced around like a pinball in my skull.
“Come on airbag, save my life…………………………”
… nothing. No airbag.
“Fiddle de de.”
I quickly gathered myself and examined my face in the rear view mirror and saw that I still had my rugged good looks (that I am so well known for). I could deal with a lost limb as long as I still had my good looks (that I am so well known for).
Upon further examination, I discovered that I still had all my limbs and that I didn’t have any gaping holes in my jugular(s) (I don’t know how many jugular(s) I have, and hopefully I never have to find out).
The other driver and I pulled over to the side of the road to examine the damage and exchange insurance information.
“I am sooo sorry”, she burst out.
“Ohh, I’m fine. Are you ok?” I asked.
I walked around to the back of my car to assess the damage. There was only damage to the bottom of my bumper where her car slid under mine.
“Well, that doesn’t look too ba…”
“Do you even want to turn it in to insurance?” she interrupted.
“Umm, well… yeah. I would like someone to take a look at it to make sure my axle is not going to snap in half while I am driving 70 mph down the freeway, sending me flying off a tall bridge doing summersaults in a ball of fire. ”
“Ohh, ok.” she said dejectedly.
We exchanged each other’s insurance info and went on our way.
The next day, I got a call from her insurance agency who told me that they were accepting fault and would later send out an adjustor to assess the damage.
The next day a cheerful grey-haired man came out and checked out the car and informed me that he would compile the information. He also told me that he would have claims representative contact me shortly to provide the necessary details.
The next day, I got a call from the insurance company.
Satan-“Hello, I am calling for Mr. Ard”
“Speaking…”
“Yes, we looked over the information that the adjustor provided and we have determined that the damage totaled 12 dollars.”
“WHAT?!? 12 dollars?!?”
“Yeah, there was some damage that was already on the bumper, so all we can give you is 12 dollars.”
So, now I am $12 richer. Well, not exactly. As I am typing this story right now I am enjoying the fruits of my shredded bumper. I am eating a “Shrek Push Up” Popsicle. I had to splurge a little. It cost $3.09; $8.91 left to invest. I have a couple of good leads already. A friend of mine is willing to sell me some stock in Fanny Mae. I was thinking something more like State Farm. If they only give out $12 to every accident victim, they must be making money hand over fist. On second thought, I think I am just going to spend the rest of it on a cheeseburger.

Everybody Poops

I walked in to the kid’s bathroom after work today and was struck by two things right away. The first was that their bathroom was clean! It‘s been a while since there wasn’t any towels or clothes on the floor; and not for lack of nagging on my part.

“Afton… when are you going to clean the kids bathroom? I had an angry badger jump out and hiss at me this morning while it was moving its babies between dirty laundry piles. And now I can’t find it because it has too many places to hide.” 

Afton groans, “Aww, I hate cleaning the bathrooms.”

 “But, I thought you like cooking and cleaning. You told me that before we got married. I remember you specifically saying, “I can’t wait to have our own place where I can cook and clean and do laundry”.”

“Yeah… I changed my mind… I hate it now. Why don’t you go ahead and do it?”

Ding, ding, ding…and with that, the prize fight was over: TKO in the first round.

So now you can imagine my surprise when I walked in today and it was clean.

However, upon further inspection, I noticed a pair of the kid’s pants in the corner; someone had an accident.

 This reminded me of some close calls in my own life.  

When I was on my mission in Seoul Korea, we missionaries ate a lot of spicy foods that did not always agree with us. I remember one time my companion (Elder Bodine) and I were headed to an appointment across town. We had our traditional spicy teriyaki beef and rice for breakfast (they don’t like to eat sweets in the morning. They think it’s gross to eat sweets first thing in the morning). We had our scripture study and panned out our discussion. We were feeling good and ready for the day.

We headed for the bus stop that was only a few hundred yards from our place. I felt great! We hopped on the 30 year old sun faded bus as it spewed black smoke into the air. It was a hot and humid morning that got even hotter and more humid as we stood shoulder to shoulder (well, shoulder to elbow) with 50 sweaty Koreans (who also ate spicy beef for breakfast (the morning sweats rule also applies to toothpaste)).  

It was about a 25 minute bus ride to our first appointment. Almost immediately I started feeling my stomach tie in knots. After a few minutes in the bus, I told my companion that I needed to find a bathroom.  We were close to a shopping center so he agreed. I went over to the cord next to the bus doors. You would pull the cord to let the bus driver know that you wanted off at the next stop.

I gave the cord a good tug and the buzzer went off. I was thinking about how we would have plenty of time to run to the bathroom, catch another bus, and still make it to our appointment with plenty of time to spare.

Then I saw the bus stop sign flash by. I quickly gave the cord a quick frantic yank. Buzz…

 The bus driver kept driving like he heard nothing. I figured the next stop was close so I waited patiently.

A mile later, the bus finally stopped. At this point I was trying not to panic. My companion and I started walking back toward the shopping center off in the distance.

“Ok, if we hurry I should be fine.”I say trying to stay positive.

In complete silence we hastily walk toward the bathrooms. Then 50 yards from the bathrooms-I freeze.

Elder Bodine- “Elder Ard, why did you stop?!? The bathroom is right there! Come on, hurry up!”

With my eyes popping out of my head as if I had just seen Sasquatch, I stood motionless.

Without making any movement, I whispered like a ventriloquist, “I can’t! If I take one more step I will have an accident right here in front of all these people.”

My companion turned around, saw my face, and erupted in laughter, “Hahahaha…you should …hahahahahaha…you should…hahahaha…see…your face…hahahaha. I wish I had my camera…hahahaha… your face is hilarious right now…hahahaha” as he doubles over grabbing his side in hysteria.  

With my teeth clinched tight I exclaim, “Elder Bodine, I can’t make it to the bathroom.

“Well, you don’t have a choice unless you are going to go to the bathroom in your pants right here…hahahaha”

At this point, I’m thinking about escape routes and how to get another pair of pants.

After standing motionless for two or three minutes, the overwhelming urge subsided slightly. I ran for my life and made it to the bathroom with .0987 seconds left to spare! Yikes!

I later found out that one of the elders in my mission had the same problem while he was on the subway. Unfortunately, he passed out… and well, you can guess the rest of that story.

Cowboy Up!

It has been 12 years since I was a priest; however, I still have such fond memories of the blessings and joy that come from fulfilling my priesthood responsibilities (if going on super activities is a priesthood responsibility).
Here’s the story-
About nine months before I turned 16, there were only a couple of teachers in our ward. My bishop at the time (Bishop Trone) decided (I am not making this up) that since the Church believes that life begins at conception, I was old enough to go with the priests on their super activity. That year, their activity was riding poorly trained horses into God’s country. This place brought us young men closer to God (because of the exquisite beauty and the 1000’ foot vertical cliffs that screamed certain death with every shaky step of our untrained horses). We never prayed so much in our lives seeing as we were always one misplaced hoof away from meeting our creator.
Now the one thing we did have on our side was experience. We were all told that if we did not come out and work with our assigned horses, we were not going on the trip! I made sure that I worked with my horse. I wanted to be comfortable standing on the saddle while my horse galloped across the wide open grass fields. I also wanted to make sure that I knew how to jump onto the horse from the rear (in case I needed to expeditiously escape any masked bandits) just to name a couple of horse trick musts.
Well, I didn’t get much time to work on all of my sweet tricks, seeing as I spent most of my time trying to catch my horse.
Ray (owner of the wild horses)-“What are you doin’ you dummy?!?
Me- “I was hoping to eventually saddle this horse”.
“Yi do it like dat and dat harse ill’ kick you right in yur twig and berries. Here let me do it!”
Ray proceeded to tie the horse’s feet together with rope. He then threw a saddle onto the half bucking and hobbled horse.
“Dar yi go, hop on.”
“Ohh…ummm… can I see someone else do it first?” I asked with my lips quivering.
“You aint in the Girl Scouts are yi?!? Just hop on!” he snapped.
Trying to keep the high pitched shrills suppressed, I sealed my lips and cautiously force myself to put my left foot into the stirrup. The horse then began to jump up and down as if he were riding a pogo stick (apparently I had a horse with a fondness for kid’s toys).
I leaped back.
“Aww, dat aint nuttin. All harses do dat. Wir’ burnin daylight, hop on.”
At this point the horse seemed to have gotten all of his “Pogo sticking” out of his system. I was able to put my foot into the stirrup and throw my leg over the saddle.
I spent the next 20 minutes getting used to how the horse moved and how it would repeatedly try to catapult me over its head. That was all I could take of the horse trying to whip my head around like a punching bag. It was time to call it a day.
For a first time rider, I thought I did pretty well. No major injuries and I still had all my body parts. I was now an experiences horseman. You might say “NO WAY! Not after just one lesson!
Well you are wrong. I was an experienced horseman. I had to be. The horse trip was 5 days away and that was my first and last training session.

To be continued…

This is a true story...

Afton came home from work the other night, flipped on the bedroom light and said, "I was just out doing my civic duty…"
“What?!? Well, do your civic duty and TURN OUT THE LIGHT!” I exclaimed as I grabbed her pillow from between my legs to shield my eyes.
“I was just out doing my civic duty”, she announced again as if I hadn’t heard her the first time.
“Ok, good for you. The Strawberry Shortcake stickers are on top of the fridge. You can have one. Don’t take them all! You know how sad Kayla got last time you took them all for yourself.”
“Don’t you want to know what happened?” “Oh, I would love nothing more than to hear your story at 2 am. I love staying up for girl talk.” I said a little sarcastically (ok, a lot sarcastically).
“Go ahead…” I sighed.
“Well, as I was driving home from work, I saw a grey sports car blast past me at 100 mph!”
“Oh, how did he pass you then? I thought that was your standard highway speed.” I mussed to myself.
“Then he cut in front of me and jumped onto the freeway off-ramp. About 15 seconds later, I saw two police cars with light and sirens blaring fly past me too. The cops didn’t see the grey car take the off-ramp, so I took the exit and followed the car.”
“Did you call 9-1-1?” I asked wide-eyed.
“No, I just followed the car.”
“WHAT?!? Are you crazy?!?”
“Well, I didn’t know if they were chasing the grey car.”
“Oh yeah, I bet they are all buddies headed to the coffee shop. I’m guessing that the grey car just knew a shortcut.”
“Stop interrupting me! Anyway, I followed them into an apartment complex.”
“WHAT?!?WHAT?!? Did you call the police when you saw them pull in?” I asked frantically.
“No, I drove past them and got their license plate number. Then I called the police.”
“Well, great work Magnum PI! Are these guys going to show up at our house tonight and shoot us now?!?”
“No, but I almost ran over them with the van. They were drunk and could barely stay upright as they walk toward their apartment. After that I came home.”
As I sat there shaking uncontrollably, I said to her, “You know those movies that have the girl who walks into a dark abandoned house in the middle of the night to check out an open door, while the viewer screams, “What the heak do you think you’re doing, you’re gonna get killed?”"
"Well… you were that girl tonight!”
“Well, I think I did the right thing by turn them in.” she said smugly.
“OK, new family rule. If you get caught in the middle of a high speed pursuit, and the police lose the suspect, you MUST call 9-1-1 right away and let the cops deal with it.” (I never imagined I would have to make a family rule for this.)
“Fine, whatever…” she reluctantly agreed as she rolled over to go to bed.