Life lessons in a road trip

I eased back in the passenger seat of the GF’s car, glancing at my bare knee prickly stray hairs stood in contrast on my pale skin. I started to fuss but reminded myself, “We’re on vacation.” Well, not exactly.

Weekend getaway?

Kind of.

You’re over-thinking it, Les.

One of the GF’s cousin’s was getting married this past weekend and in a weird but welcome bit of good karma, the GF had a free hotel room. This meant we got to have weekend in Kansas City for cheap. Yay!

It was a chance for us to sleep in without intervention from the felines or the canine. It would be my first trip there since I was a kid. It was a chance to eat some real barbeque. It was a chance to relax.

Yeah. Right. Me? Relax?

Ask anyone who knows me, I can be a rather uptight so and so. I hate clutter. I plan everything … to death. Spontanaeity is something I’m working on in therapy. Which explains the fretting over the three stray hairs on my knee. My neuroses are well care for.

But I had decided, for once, to try to relax and just go with the flow. We only had one place we really had to be and the rest of the weekend was open to possibility. A rare treat for the two of us.

The GF had been uncharacteristically quiet when she burst forth with, “Are you ok with pizza for lunch? We’re about 35 miles from our destination and I just thought of a place to eat.”

I was amazed. I’d been so busy mentally chewing on my own minutia I had no idea most of our road trip was over. The trip was far shorter than I expected.

“Sure,” I said, “I’m good with whatever.”

I could tell from the sly sidelong glance I got she wasn’t convinced. I am an unrepentant foodie and I’m loathe to go to chain restaurants. Sure, when nothing else better presents itself I’ll go to an Applebee’s but I’m bound to be fussy about it. However, pizza is a safe zone for me because usually anywhere you go there’s a decent Mom and Pop pizza joint.

The GF plugged an address into her TomTom (lesbians and their tech toys) and 40 minutes later we were sitting in a delightful little place called Minsky’s Pizza. It’s a local chain in Kansas City that started out life in the 70’s. I’m fairly certain we visited the original one given the age of the building and fixtures. It was definitely my kind of place. The GF was tickled she’d found something that made us both happy.

As I glanced around the restaurant, I noticed the pre-teen birthday lunch at the table next to us. It brought back a flood of memories of my own pre-teen pizza parties that were nearly always at Pizza Hut. Back then I loved to go to Pizza Hut, the mere thought of it now makes my gut churn.

I dimly wondered when I got to be such an uppity so and so until the pizza came. My faith was renewed in the Mom and Pop chain. There were hunks of tomato in the sauce and the cheese on the pizza was real mozzarella. I decided I was picky, not uppity.

After we got to our hotel and changed, we made our way over to the park where the nuptials were to take place. I was excited when we got there because the park was on a lake that is the home waters to the University of Kansas rowing team. I was a coxswain in high school and since we were early I made the GF find the boathouse.

So far it had been a delightful and restful afternoon.

We met up with the inlaws and made our way into the recreation hall where the wedding was to take place. It was a beautiful stone and wood structure built in the 40s overlooking the lake, a lovely place to get married.

The GF always cries at weddings and had her tissue at the ready. She wound up using it to stifle giggles when the preacher kept mispronouncing the groom’s name. None-the-less the bride and the ceremony were lovely and when it was over the tension dam broke.

Weddings are stressful things, which is sad, because they should be happy celebrations. They usually are eventually, but up to the point of the reception everyone’s pucker factor -- guests included – is at squeeze factor ten.

There was a young lad at the wedding named Junior. I didn’t figure out who Junior was until half way through dinner, but I was well aware of his presence the minute the Bride and Groom walked out of the hall. As far as I could tell, Junior had run after them because his mother was yelling at him.

It was obvious that Junior was just done with all this wedding nonsense. He was ready to party and he didn’t have time for pleasantries such as dinner and cake.

I was reminded of my first wedding. I pretty much felt like Junior did. I really didn’t want to be dressed up and sit through all this hoopla. I wanted to eat cake and dance. This notion went over like a lead balloon with the maternal unit.

In fact, as I looked around the wedding I was attending I was overcome with the notion my mother would be completely appalled. This wedding was very free form and fairly casual. My mother would see it as unorganized. More to the point, my mother wouldn’t be in control of it.

My mom had complete control of my first wedding. I was glad of it too, I was entirely too busy starting a new job and settling into cohabitation with my now ex-husband. And, truthfully, she was thrilled to do it. I’ve always thought my mother could be a professional wedding planner but she’s only ever been interested in planning mine.

A lump formed in my throat as I thought of our upcoming big day. While I fully admit to having a wide control freak streak myself, as I’ve aged I’ve grown a little less fussy. And I really HATE overly formal.

Sure, it’s fine to put on the glad rags and go out on the town now and again but with time and one wedding behind me it’s very clear to me that formality isn’t the important part of a wedding. In fact, that’s all a wedding is, a mere formality.

But tell that to my overly formal mother.

Formal Maternal Unit aside, I think this time our wedding will be more about the GF and I celebrating our commitment to each other rather than what color of napkins to use and do the flowers match our hair. And because it’s unfair to ask the Maternal Unit to completely bend to my will, she got control of the flowers and the cake. So it will at least be a wedding she’s happy with as well.

Reflecting on all this, I began to relax, enjoy the wedding we were attending and allow myself just a twee bit of pride for going with the flow. That’s about the time the tornado sirens started.

Suddenly an erstwhile Park Ranger was in the room informing all of us we had to go to the basement of the building, “Right now.” This sentiment was echoed rather loudly by the Mother of the Bride who carries way more weight than THAT guy.

Relaxed ran straight for the basement and neuroses quickly took its place. The GF hates crowds, even more so in small enclosed places. I’m not fond of either, but when confronted with a tornado in any place other than my own home where I know where all the emergency stuff is? Well, hello basket case!

We steadfastly ignored the Park Ranger and Mother of the Bride. The GF was furtively looking out the window while trying to keep me from hyperventilating She mentioned needing a beer about then.

Beer? Keg. There’s a keg at this party and it’s in a stone enclosure on this floor that would probably withstand … “Well, honey let’s go get you a beer!”

The GF frequently looks at me as though I’ve grown a third head. I explained my logic and finally got her over there. And we both consumed a barley pop. I don’t know if it relaxed me or not but it didn’t hurt.

Fortunately for the Newlyweds the bad weather blew over and everybody, even Junior, could go back to the festivities. The GF and I said our goodbyes and decided to hit the casino. It was at that point we realized we’re old farts.

Twenty minutes and $30 into our gambling we knew we’d had too much day. The GF cashed out while I stood there silently cursing the penny slots. At least one of us had come out ahead.

We hardly slept, I think both of us were missing those felines and canine we were so sure always kept us up. We had a wonderful breakfast at First Watch the next morning and headed for home. The trip was fun, tornado drill aside, but it’s always good to be home … where I promptly got sick but it’s NOT the Swine Flu.