“Lightening does strike twice,” my mom warned me when I told her my car smelled funny again. She encouraged me to go straight home from her house, instead of going to get an ice cream to enjoy in my car again during Desmond’s nap. It’s a bad habit I’ve picked up recently. Des zonks in the car while I have a little quiet time, which pairs so well with a snickers blizzard and National Public Radio. My mom was reminding me of what happened there last week. “I’ll be fine, Ma. It’s not going to happen again.”
Last Sunday, our jaunt to the Dairy Queen I’m visiting so regularly, the one that’s a good distance away from home but has a drive-thru which caters so well to my new bad habit, took a turn for the worst.
There I was, enjoying my cold treat, listening to NPR as always, and sneaking peaks of my sleeping boy resting easy in the air conditioned car, when I noticed the temperature gauge on my dashboard was all the way to hot and I smelled a funny car smell. I knew that wasn’t good, but what was I to do? I better finish my blizzard before it melts. It wasn’t even two minutes later when my hood started smoking. I had over-heated at a Dairy Queen. Ironic, almost.
Two hours later after a very frustrating miscommunication with AAA, a sweetheart of a baby who had finally reached his point of no longer wanting to cooperate, and a rescue-husband whose car was actually still working, our adventure finally ended with my car being towed away. After a couple days, it was fixed. Perfect, because I really missed my nap-time-ice-cream-treat.
Fast-forward to Friday, when I smelled that funny car smell again and assumed it must be just lingering. Call it wishful thinking, call it denial, but just don’t call me, because I’ll be quietly eating ice cream peacefully in car and I don’t want any interruptions.
As I pulled into the drive-thru, I experienced a major cause of déjà vu. I ordered the same ice cream as always, eyed my sleeping boy in the back as usual, and watched that temperature gauge rising right before my eyes. I was going to over-heat again in the same Dairy Queen parking lot, as I coasted my car into the very same parking spot, just five days later.
This time it was my mom who rescued me, but the details of the day were otherwise exactly the same. There was that same terrible car smell, same instance of me having to wake my sweet baby as I hurriedly got him out of the car-seat and car, same call to AAA, same attempt to distract Desmond by watching the busy intersection and much more relaxed people enjoying their ice creams, and the same annoyance I felt in general. After so many similarities, it wasn’t all that shocking when the same tow-truck driver pulled up to haul my car off once again. He seemed a little surprised to see me again, but I knew it was only fitting at that point.
My nap-time ice cream habit wasn’t broken by just one bad car experience but two identical bad experiences may just have done it. I cringe when I think of the five hours I’ve wasted in that parking lot this week alone and my stomach even feels funny when I think about a snickers blizzard. And I LOVE snickers blizzards.
But then it’s almost nap time for Des and he’s looking at me like he’d like a ride in an air-conditioned car. Maybe we’ll take his Dad’s car to the Quincy Creamery for a nice, plain chocolate cone and that will be different enough. There’s no way lightening strikes three times, right?!