What I hit on my summer vacation …


I really think there ought to be an option for “Guest Columnist.”

Much like Bill Keane used to let “Billy” sub in for some of the Family Circus comics (and how old are those kids now anyway?)

Mr. Wonderful has often been asked what it must be like to live with the likes of me. A common comment being, “it must be a riot being married to her.”

I’m not sure “riot” is the word my long-suffering spouse would have chosen, but I do think the dry, wry response of “you have no idea” is all him.

On the other hand, since the statute of limitations has not run out on some of the more ridiculous things I have done, I’m feeling like giving him carte blanche, to tell all, may not be a good thing. Spouses still cannot be compelled to testify against each other, right?

With Mr. Wonderful suitably muffled, it is up to me to tell stories on my own self. I am nothing if not honest about my own shortcomings (of which there are many) so consider this just another in an ongoing series: What I Hit on My Summer Vacation.

This is the latest in a series. A few years ago I backed our van into a retaining wall at the dentist’s office. Tore the muffler off. Mr. Wonderful was sweet about it. Last summer I not only drove our boat trailer into a pole (score!) but backed a vehicle into a boat trailer as well. Mr. Wonderful was very sweet about it.

Focusing on people

To my credit I’m focused on pedestrians and innocent bystanders — not random things I happen to be towing at the time (which is probably the problem). First, what happened could have happened to anyone (Okay, probably a smaller subsection than “anyone,” and possibly, only me).

Bump. We spent the entire Fourth of July weekend at a campsite with a wickedly steep open culvert and very narrow drive (consider this foreshadowing). In my defense I was focused on not hitting the truck and boat trailer blocking most of the drive (ahem Mr. Wonderful!)

As I swung the car to back out, the rear tires made it over but, alas, the front end of the car did not. All I recall is a mighty “thunk” as the entire front end of the car dropped into a ravine. Chassis flush with the ground, front end resting (hanging) on the bumper, rear tire hanging in mid-air from the incline.

Staring gaze

As I sat there, incredulous, I looked across the grass to see Mr. Wonderful and our dear friend staring, wide-eyed. Our friend continued to stare, mouth agape (it was fitting somehow).

Mr. Wonderful simply clutched his head in hands and turned away. I think that was wise. At that moment I realized we had passed up “Mr. Wonderful was sweet about it” and passed into “speechless.”

It only took 22 years but I did it! For my part, I reacted by laughing hysterically, as you do.

I have no idea why it struck me as … hilarious.

Sitcom moment

Maybe because it was such a sitcom moment: hapless wife, hanging car (no one hurt) and husband looking like he just got hit with a frying pan. All I could say, climbing out of the car (literally) was “The Dukes of Hazzard” make it look easy.”

A fellow camper, reacting to the noise, responded, “you know they had like nine backup cars right?”

In the end it was quite a bonding experience as the growing assemblage (all male) discussed possible extrication scenarios.
Towing it backward? “Will rip the front end off.”

That seemed unwise. Push it? “Will drive it deeper into the ditch … if that is even possible.”

Everyone’s a smart-aleck. It was decided that a series of boards and jacks would be required to stabilize the tire so that Mr. Wonderful could, with the precision of threading a needle, maneuver the car back up and out the way it had come.

The female onlookers, for their part, kept saying to me, “your husband is taking it very well.”

What can I say, he’s had lots of experience. In the end, the car drove neatly up and out with nary a scratch.

Mr. Wonderful said I missed the oil pan by inches, we all had a good laugh, and I didn’t drive the remainder of the weekend.

The Lord was looking out. Thank you Lord! Now I wonder if the Lord offers driving lessons?


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Warm, witty and just a wee bit warped, Kymberly Foster Seabolt is a native of Kent, Ohio, who survived childhood exposure to disco and grew up to marry and move to the country. Her column weaves her special brand of humor with poignant, entertaining, and honest portrayals of parenting, marriage, and real life. She currently lives in northeastern Ohio with her husband, two children, two dogs, two cats, and numerous dust bunnies who wish to remain nameless.



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