With the spirit of being thrifty in mind (and because my time is worthless these days), I had decided to take the bus to Victoria. It would save some money and be an adventure, see, plus all environmentally friendly and girl power and make love not war ban the bomb. However, I changed my mind last night at the 11th hour (okay, it was more like the 7th) for several reasons:
- I don’t want to have to depend on my mother’s car to go anywhere because it is a horrible car full of shoes and discount paper towels
- I like to have an escape plan ready to flee the bucket a moment’s notice
- I’m a strong independent woman who works on no one’s schedule but mine
- .. taking the car means I can indulge in some of my very favourite secret pastimes: driving way too fast, turning the music up way too loud, and singing along at the top of my fucking lungs
I started out a little later than I had intended, but I’m safely ensconced on the ferry and .. well, really uncomfortable. I came upstairs to write but had to move because the woman working the cafe had a voice like a particularly inelegant fog horn, and my second temporary home has no table and a gaggle of hipsters eating cat food across from me. I may go outside, because what’s a ferry ride without freezing your ass off. It’s also kind of gorgeous outside, and I could use the fresh air.
.. okay, maybe when we’re a little further away from Delta. The smell of fertilizer is not conducive to Adventure, even if it’s more or less disguised as busy work under the banner of Good Daughter.
My mother canceled her post-Christmas trip to Vancouver, so I’m bringing Christmas to her. It’s just easier this way, and it’s a chance for me to get out of the house for reasons that do not involve going to the post office. I’m trying to convince myself it’ll be a quiet little vacation, but I know that I’ll be lucky to make it to Friday afternoon – Ed isn’t along to act as a buffer, so my historically short mom fuse is going to be even more explodey than usual. In the end, though, the therapy-inducing horrible lacy g-strings I had to buy my mother will be out of my house for good, and this way when she inevitably tries them on and models them in front of me, only one of us will suffer the untold horrors. I’m taking one for the team and sparing Ed this injustice (but not the mental images OR the horror-stricken text messages I’ll be sending him later), because I am a good wife. I hope he appreciates this. I deserve a pug.
Oh, I just thought of one other bonus to having the Mazdabator with me – we’re out of household paper products. I will help myself from mom’s ridiculous stockpile – if I steal enough paper towels, toilet paper and laundry soap, this trip will practically pay for itself. Yeah! I am fiscally responsible!
And slightly hoarse from singing on the trip to the ferry!