They shoot Jeep Cherokees, don't they?

See? See! I told you I was a slacker. I haven't posted since Thursday (ignore the line that says Wednesday, I started it on Wednesday but posted on Thursday. Damn Blogger.) but, in my defense, my husband has been on vacation since Friday and we're trying to cram as much family time into 10 days as possible. Heavy emphasis on the word "cram", as in trying to cram a sized 26 woman into a pair of sized 4 pants. Something has got to give. Ah, blog, my love, you are always the first to suffer the strains.

So, where were we?

(takes a sip of wine)

Ah, yes... When we last left our heroines, the Chicky Sisters, they were recovering from their fabulous night on the town. Food. Wine. Music. Skirted tankinis (has that joke gotten old yet? Thought so.). What I failed to mention about the Toad the Wet Sprocket and BHTM concert was that I was informed later that evening by my sister that, because of her "connections" through her restaurant, she probably could have pulled some strings and gotten us backstage to meet the bands. But she didn't. I think I hid my the urge to wring her neck and pull her hair very well. I love my sister. I love my sister. I love my sister. I love m......

GAH! I could have met this guy and this guy! I could have stood there like the awe-struck dork I am and stuttered and sputtered in front of these men, these mere mortals whom I have put on pedestals because they play guitar and sing in a band. I could have told TtWS how much I loved "I Will Not Take these Things for Granted" and told BHTM that their version of "Tangerine" was gutsy and good. Who takes on Led Zeppelin? That takes balls. And I've listened to a lot of covers in my day, but this one is pretty decent. That is a high compliment from me.

But anywhooo - I got off topic there for a sec, I tend to do that when I'm blindsided - what I was trying to get at was I could have leaned over and licked the sweat from their necks before anyone could pull me away. I could have yanked a clump of hair from More's head. Hell I could have coped a feel if I wanted to (that would be wrong. But I would have been that close! Who would have blamed me?) but my sister decided to grow a conscience. Damn her. Oh yeah, today is her birthday. She's 30 today. Happy birthday, Aunt Chicky. I love you, regardless of your goody two-shoes ways. You old bat.

Aaaaand we're back. My sister and I had the next day, my last day of freedom, all planned out. A leisurely breakfast, followed by beach time, and then back home I would go to my child and husband, but I would return tanned and rested and with sand in my ass crack. Oh, glorious day. Well, let's just say that things don't always go according to plan. Breakfast was a nightmare. We waited an hour for our food and when it came the eggs weren't cooked right, the coffee was as good as flavored water and the food was subpar. I will never return to that place again. I don't care if Joey Kramer likes their food and they serve baked beans and cornbread for breakfast sides. They've lost my business.

Mmmm... Corn bread.

As soon as we were on rt. 6A heading toward... hell, where were we going anyway? Chatham? Falmouth? I forget. Let's just say we didn't make it. The Check Engine light should have tipped me off to the fact that there was something wrong with my car before we started out, but nooooo. We had to find out the hard way when we stalled in the middle of 6A. Kaput. Deader than a doornail. Get out the rifle, its time to put 'er down. In a brief moment of clarity, while the car was stalling, I had the good sense to bank a hard right and we ended up mainly on the side of the road. We spent the remainder of our morning (wasting valuable baking-in-the-sun time) waiting for my brother-in-law to come pick us up. He got my Grand Cherokee started and drove it back to Hyannis. After checking with a local garage - who told me there wasn't a damn thing they could find wrong with the ol' girl - we parked my hunk of shit and decided to squeeze in some late day beach time.

Yes, we salvaged the day. We broke out the beach chairs and some great works of fiction at the local sandy spot while I, silently, freaked out over the idea of having to spend another night away from my kid. Normally, I would have loved the idea of being forced to spend another evening with my sister, but this time I was physically ill at the thought of being held captive on the Cape by a dead Chrysler product. I had not mentally prepared for another 24 hours away from the sweet smell and soft skin of my daughter. Away from the "Mamamamas" and the "S'at?" point, "S'at?" point, over and over, answering her incessant questions of "What is that curious object, Mother?".

Was I crazy? I had the opportunity to stay away from my motherly responsibilities for another day and all I could think of were ways to get off that damn peninsula. Could I walk? Too damn far and I didn't bring sensible shoes. Hitchhike? I'm not into potential rape and murder, thank you very much. Nope, I decided to drive my pile of steel and dog hair back home. Breakdowns (the car, not mine) be damned. Besides, Mr. C got a triple A membership that afternoon so I could have the car towed all the way home if I needed to.

I drove my car back home without incident. It made it the whole way without one hiccup or lurch.* And I made it back to my daughter in time to tuck her in at bedtime. The perfect ending to the perfect mama's night out.

Well, almost perfect. If only I had the chance to throw myself at BHTM, then that would have been the perfect night out. Thanks again, Sis.


*(The Jeep made it home, but barely. Two days later I tried to drive it to work and it died at the end of my street. My Grand Cherokee spent the next three days at the local mechanic. Damn. I hate being without a car. But it's all better now, and my wallet is much lighter, thanks for caring.)