I spent last weekend in the wilds of Michigan, home with family for my sister's baby shower (quite an experience for the swingin' single girl with no kids and no plans for kids anytime soon). Crap weather notwithstanding, it was a lovely trip. Among other things, I remembered how much fun dogs are.
I (being car-free as I am) took Amtrak out of the city, and my dad was kind enough to pick me up at the train station. We loaded up my luggage and I climbed into his (awesome) Jeep. I went to buckle myself in, and had a moment of sheer terror: the belt wouldn't reach. (See: today's BFB piece...the universe is so weird sometimes.)
Now, I've had my seatbelt woes....I'm at a size where sometimes it's a close fit, especially if the seat isn't all the way back. Now, being tall, I usually put the seat all the way back, and then lean back on top of that, so as not to hit my head all the time...so I'm usually at optimum positioning for seatbelt reach-age. If it's a crowded car and I'm sitting in front of someone tall with the seat not all the way back, I sometimes will fake a buckle, or just casually not buckle in at all. This makes me a little crazy, since I was raised with an automatic reflex to buckle in the instant my ass hits the seat of a car. But...if the seatbelt won't fit around my ass, what's the point?
So, I'm trying to buckle in. My dad's sort of laughing at me, I'm making offhand comments about my giant winter coat, my dad's saying he thinks he has an extender around here somewhere, all the while I'm internally freaking out a little...last time I was home, I had no problem buckling in, and I didn't think I'd put on a bunch of weight or anything...and this was going to be a huge inconvenience if I suddenly wasn't fitting into car seatbelts. All of a sudden, out of curiosity, I open the door to see if I have (as I often do) shut the seatbelt in the door. Of course, I had, and suddenly I have no trouble buckling in. My dad and I share a good laugh at my dumbassity, and all is right with the world.
I'm so glad I don't own a car. Better for the environment, and I never have to worry about seatbelts on the el!
Loud-mouthed liberal feminist. Anarchist knitter. Tequila-drinking artsy-smartsy fat chick. Bluesy folk-rock singer-songwriter. Rebel with too many causes. Quirky eclectic pagan poet. Paradoxical intuitive smartass. Sarcastic brainiac insomniac. You know, for starters.