The Wheels on the Bus

I am older than twenty, and less than forty, and last week I had my very first public transportation bus ride. Because of the high gas prices, and ungodly parking situation at my college, we thought the bus would be a good solution to my schooling transportation situation.

I'm sure for you well traveled, east coasters, this would be no big deal. Well, first, we Texans tend to be fiercely independent, especially when it comes to our driving. Public transportation is just not a part of our culture - we're not like London or New York where everybody uses it. Secondly, here in town, the public transportation system is kind of a small, private school girl's boogey man. Yes, I'll admit it yet again, that I am a snob. Up until this time I just pictured myself sitting on the bus with a cell phone, already dialed 9-1-1 and waiting to hit the "send" button, in one hand and a can of mace in the other. A little over reactionary? Perhaps. Well, Wednesday was my test run.

Because I was a bus riding rookie, I decided that the prudent thing to do was learn about it before my first day of class. Not dumb enough to go on my own, I brought my trusty side kick, aka "Mom," along. Of course, the last time she had used the bus was in 1970...literally. I didn't know how to buy a ticket, pay for it, or find out which bus to take.

Thanks to the handy Internet figured out which bus I needed. It even listed the price. It just didn't say how I was supposed to physically pay for it. Do I pay the driver? Do I order a ticket online? So, on Wednesday we managed to show up at the right time, and thankfully a wise old bus-worker-woman was lounging over two seats in the waiting cabana. She told me to buy a "day pass" since it'd be cheaper than paying for each individual trip (remember, we had to get back home!) She was very helpful, but I'm sure we stood out as totally lost, I'll remember to never wear those gold sandals on the bus.

Miracle of miracles, we were not robbed, shot, molested or propositioned on the entire ride. The driver was a bit chatty, but that's okay. It was actually a lot of fun. Fourth Darling, who went with us, loved it. She kept saying "buuse, buuse!" The ride was easy, and I was not lost in the bowels of los barrios (what we Texans call the ghetto).

I think I'm actually going to enjoy the ride so that I can get last minute studying or reading done before my classes. I feel so urban!

I guess it could have been worse

At least she wasn't wielding one of these things! Thursday evening, I was talking on the phone, starting dinner, clearing off the table multi-tasking, when out of the corner of my eye, I see Fourth Darling coming down the hallway, out of our bedroom, slinging an uncapped bottle of furniture oil. She was shaking that thing like it was a champagne bottle after a Super Bowl win.

My floors! Agghhh! My walls. DO NOT PUT THAT IN YOUR MOUTH! Geeeeesshhh.

As I slipped and slid down the hall to get the fatally toxic household cleaner away from her, she laughed and laughed, and thought it'd be fun to run. I was so steamed! I did get it away from her, and let me tell you, I just about threw a temper tantrum myself.

There was oil dripping down the walls, all over our relatively new laid floors and of course, everyone came running through the slippery hall to see what all of the commotion was about. Thankfully, for her sake, and my sanity, Darling Man kept a logical lid on the situation.

Apparently the oil won't ruin my new floors, it only makes us squeak as we walk through the hallway, and the oil wiped off the walls since we were quick about it.

You know the worst thing, out of the whole situation? I had no one to blame but myself, and that just ratcheted the level of "pissivity" up a few notches. I must say, I was proud of my Darling Man. He's a smart one. He didn't even ask me why I wasn't watching her, or why didn't I put the oil away when I was finished using it. Oh, I'm sure he thought it, but he's a genius that way!