I am considering another 6 hour car trip with my family this weekend.
Yep. The last go round, just like those myths about childbirth, has become a fog of "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"
(I've never understood how you could forget about childbirth pain. I love my heathens,but no rapturous moment of parental bonding will muddy the memories having my belly torn inside out by a watermelon sized child any time soon!)
But, because I love The Man, and because I an use it later on for guilt purposes, I am considering making that trek again.
Why? His family.
Why? Because it's important to him.
Why? Because I'm stupid and into pain. (I thought we'd already established that!)
So I will strap the kids into their car seats and The Man to the hood and go barrelling down the road in true hillbilly style, sipping on my spiked Vanilla coke and swerving to watch The Man yell for mercy.
So, once again, when you see a mini van with children plastered to the windows and a sobbing man attached to the front bumper, driven by a woman whose obviously three sheets to the wind, just pull off the road and enjoy the show.
If I get snockered enough, you might just see my lily white ass cheeks flapping the breeze.
Enjoy!
Throw money!
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