One of our inbred, genetic, American traits is the road trip. See the USA in your Chevrolet! Two roads diverged in a wood and I took the one less traveled.* Thanks to the interstate highway system it is now possible to travel from coast to coast without seeing anything!**
So it was a dark and stormy night, actually it was a bright and sunny morning when we set out on our road trip to all points west. Well not the far west like California but closer west, Pennsylvania by way of Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York, and New Jersey. All this because of two desires...chocolate and Springsteen. It's a BAD bad habit kids so unless you have an endless bank account don't fall in love with a cool rockin' daddy. That is Springsteen, Bruce Springsteen, the Boss for all you Beiber lovers (and if you are you will self destruct in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...)
|The Boss w/the equally yummy Tom Morello.|
Photo by Brooklyn Vegan for Rolling Stone Magazine 2014
So we packed up the buggy like doomsday preppers with our Little Debbie snacks, coffee and a cooler filled with various beverages plus enough luggage to move the Clampett's to Beverly...Hills that is and set off. All was fine during the first five minutes until I realized the cooler was way in the "way" back and I wasn't going to be able to reach a drink if I needed one. Then I realized it was BEFORE 6 a.m. and I have a strict policy about doing nothing before 6 a.m. AND it was Easter Sunday and it's probably against God to be out that early on Easter because God loves us as does Jesus and they would want us to sleep much later (but we were heading to Hershey PA so I put that complaint on the back burner). The driver, my husband Mr. Krabappel, looked like a man possessed with making "time" as in "we made good time, got to Hershey in 3 hours" sort of time. I was out of coffee eight minutes in. The mini me had her headphones on and was ignoring my desperate requests for something to quench my thirst from the cooler and the Man was ignoring my repeated requests for Starbucks or Dunkins. My chubby baby arms can't even reach far enough to smack anyone. It was going to be a long ride.
Two hours later the Man finally agreed to stop for coffee. He gave 5 minutes for our demon daughter and I to pee, eat food, get coffee and check our 23 electronic devices. We were behind 'his' schedule. We should have already been in Hershey eating chocolate bon bons. We were still in Massachusetts. I start writing up a list of possible ways to murder the Man and not get caught. I easily squander 4 of my 5 minutes but I got a Trenta, Venti, Grande sized coffee to go with six shots of espresso. I am a rocket. Unfortunately we weren't riding me to Pennsylvania and I have to try and contain my now super human energy stuck inside a vehicle. I'm pretty sure I've developed a liver twitch and I keep having the urge to put the window down and yell WOOT WOOT.
Hours three, four, five, and six went pretty much the same except I read road signs out loud to no one in particular. (side note - if you repeat Mahwah enough times you can go into a trance and see Bruce Springsteen in your windshield) Demon kid watched a movie on her computer while playing a game on her Nintendo and Speedy Krabappel randomly punched the buttons on the radio (how many times did I have to say "there are NO STATIONS turn the damn thing off?" ***). I pointed out interesting things on the road, road kill updates, random debris updates, funny sounding towns, mostly to myself. I watched as rest areas came and went and we didn't stop. I tried to calculate how many gallons of coffee I consumed during hour two and how deep the puddle in the buggy would be. I took to measuring distance by using my middle finger as a ruler on my tablet "oh look we're this many 'Birds' away from Bottom Rash PA.
And then, off in the distance it was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was Hershey. Hershey where the streets are paved in chocolate; (travelers tip - it's really brown tar and not as tasty as it looks). Hershey where they pump the scent of chocolate in the air (this is no lie). It was not the age of wisdom. It was simply put, Nirvana coated with a hard sugary shell and makes you want to lick everything in sight.****
Call me Ishmael. Call me foolish. I'm in Hershey and I'm LACTOSE INTOLERANT and all the street lamps are made of Hershey Kisses!#
Whose idea was this?
Part Three - coming soon!
* Stolen from Robert Frost
** Swiped from Charles Kuralt
*** The answer is more than eleven
****Not enough Purell in the world plus they frown upon licking
# This is not a lie. They are made of chocolate kisses!
I'd be a horrible friend if I didn't thank MCR and KTV for their help in getting over some of my writers block. Thank you ladies!