So..if you see me on the road...

When your husband is away for long periods of time, there are several jobs which, you, the wife, shall be forced to take over in his absence.
*This past year, I have found myself on the roof of our home more times than I care to recall. There was The Leak Incident. There were several rescues of various toys that “somehow” ended up stranded on the roof. And there was an antenna problem.

*There will always be the numerous car related incidents in which a wife will have to brave The Garage, in order to have said incident fixed, all the while praying that: 1. she won’t get royally ripped off, 2. that said problem is actually FIXED, and 3., that the greasy guy who has been constantly staring into the waiting area at you from behind that glass window….can’t get out of there.

*If you think it’s a woman’s world, my friend, just make a trip to your local Lowe’s Lumber Dept with your purse over your shoulder. You’ll know differently.

*There are also many minor household repairs which a solo wife must learn to deal with on her own. I can honestly say that the inner workings of toilets, faucets, sinks, and showers no longer hold a mystery for me.

But I must tell you that while all of these tasks hold their various challenges, there is no task that I dread so much as hauling our refuse to the dump. DUMP DAY. I have looked high and low for a trash guy. I’d pay my a lot of my husbands hard earned money for that service! None to be had. We must take care of this on our own.

First, the problem was that we had to haul garbage in the back of our suburban. That was bad. Thankfully, my Mom and Dad heard my cry and came to my rescue(again). They gave us the use of one of their spare pick-ups, to haul our garbage. Now, this little truck came to us with the character already well worn in, and with many instructions from my dad about it’s peculiar workings. First of all: Don’t roll down the window (won’t go back up). Don’t put down the tailgate. The speedometer will show about 20 miles slower than the speed that you are actually traveling, so if you go about 85, you will actually be around the speed limit. Oh, and here are the specific starting instructions from my dad: “Mash the pedal all the way to the floor one full time, turn the ignition, and then pump the hell out of the gas pedal, and she’ll fire right up.” With the added caution that you may have to do this a few times to keep it running. (Which, by the way, is EXACTLY how it starts, and your right leg WILL get used to going up and down that fast.)
One look at this little gem, and you KNOW it has to have a name. Further on in my dads instructions, he said….and I will quote him directly, “She’s slow gettin’ goin’ but if you mash the pedal to the floor she’ll run jus’ like a scalded dog!” And, like a voice from heaven, I knew. It was just…..right. Thus, the “Scalded Dog” was born
So, once a week, we load up the Scalded Dog, and head to the dump. The way there was a little scary the first few times, but once I figured out that there was approximately a half-radius worth of “play” in the wheel, it was a piece of cake!(Oh, and the first time, I drove with the blinker on the WHOLE way!) Jackson LOVES this truck, so he is my eager dump helper. I ease her right up close to the dumpsters, between the gargantuan, shiny pick-ups that sit outside of every trailer in this county. And Jack unloads. The ride home feels good. Freer somehow. We can’t get the FM radio to work, but she’s got a really sweet cassette deck.
So, ladies as you hand that bag to your husband to take out, or drag that can down to the curb…..think of me…….. And when you see the garbage man driving by your house this week to whisk away your refuse…… give a little wave and a smile….and think of me…and the “Scalded Dog.”

G'night,
Melissa