This is my second summer with a vegetable garden, and since I’m not 727lbs of grumpy, tired pregnant this year, I decided to double the size of the garden. In an effort to be super-domestic, I expanded it to 8ft wide by 20ft long. I have several kinds of tomatoes, green and red peppers, summer squash, zucchini, broccoli, lettuce, spinach, green beans, onions, sweet peas, dill, rosemary, basil, lemon thyme and of course cucumbers. Whew. Thanks to a shitty (literally) soil mix, warm weather, and my mad gardening skillz, I have already had a bountiful harvest. I posted a few pictures on the Facebook page (click “like” in the Facebook Box above this post to follow me there too) as well as on my personal Facebook page. One of my cousins, after seeing the pictures, suggested I make the Homemade Pickles my Italian Grandfather used to make. So my Mom shared the recipe, and I’ve made around 8 jars of pickles so far. Hopefully they will be half as tasty as what my Pop-Pop used to make each summer (no reviews available yet).
So today I ventured out into the 98 degree heat, and I drove a cooler full of jarred pickles 35 miles north to my Aunt’s house and then to my Mom’s house to be distributed amongst my relatives. Each time I left my car or an air conditioned house, it felt like I was sticking my head an oven. Concerned with possibly becoming dehydrated or stricken with heat stroke (not really), I went to Wendy’s and ordered a Frosty for the way home. Tick, tock, tick, tock…my kids nap would soon be over and I was still 40 minutes from my house. My husband was working from home and I needed to be back before the kids woke up; so as I pulled away from the drive thru window and realized I had no straw (of course) I knew I would have to improvise as I sped home. I am not an advocate for doing other things while driving, including eating, so I eagerly ate my straw-less Frosty at red lights or when grossly slowed in traffic. Once I hit the freeway things cleared up a bit, and I set my cruise control on a speed which would get me home before Sunday. Unfortunately, this speed may have been slightly higher than the posted signs, and I soon found myself pulling onto the shoulder of the road with a State Trooper behind me.
The Trooper approached my car and I rolled my window down, hoping my clean driving record would be enough of an incentive not to get a ticket. He asked if I knew why I was being pulled over, and I replied that I was out delivering pickles to my hungry Italian relatives and I needed to get home prior to my angels awaking from their peaceful slumbers. He smiled at my remarks, and I suddenly had hope that perhaps my good looks, quick wit, and charm could help me wiggle out of a ticket. I smiled back as I handed him my license and registration. He then lifted his glasses, as if to get a better look at me, and kept smiling as he walked back to his police cruiser. I immediately thought “Damn! You go girl, you still got ‘it.’ Married with three kids isn’t keeping you from lookin’ goood!” At this point I would have given myself a high five if I could have, but I opted instead for a confident wink at myself in the mirror. Then my heart stopped. I mean I literally felt it stop beating and fall into the pit of my stomach. He wasn’t “checking me out,” I had a damn Frosty mustache. WTF!! As if my upper lip hair (aka Tom Selleck) wasn’t troubling enough, now I’m getting food stuck in it. I felt my face flush, and I literally wanted to cry. Moments later, as I pondered opening my car door and wandering into traffic, the Trooper returned to my window. He smiled again as he handed me my license and registration, and I wiped my face off with a napkin. “Slow down, Miss, and have a safe drive home.”
As I pulled away, my confidence shattered, I pondered whether or not one could actually die of embarrassment. If so, it hasn’t happened yet, but given my life, it is most certainly my destiny.
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