We are moving back to our hometown of Baton Rouge, LA. This has been a dream of ours since I got pregnant with ONE, but we couldn’t seem to make it happen. Until it did.
I have been looking for a house to rent. I naively thought it wouldn’t be that hard to find something decent. I was wrong. For two days I hauled my children all over town looking at properties and all of them looked like meth labs were inside.
Today, my sweet mother-in-law kept the kids while I took her car and went on an all-day search. I looked at a house that smelled like animal pee. I looked at a house that looked like the kind of place where axe murderers would live. I looked at a house that was next door to the owner of “Bobby’s Bail Bonds.”
I saw one house I really liked, but it got rented before I could make an offer on it. And I saw an awful lot of places that looked like they should be condemned. Currently the front runner is a house that I have nicknamed The Cabin, because that is what it looks like.
In the midst of all of this, I realized I really had to pee. Like really badly. I had a small amount of time to find a bathroom before I was to meet with a property manager so I hightailed it out to a main intersection. There was a wreck up ahead and traffic was backed up so I attempted to do a u-turn. In my mother-in-law’s vehicle.
This is what happened.
I got stuck. I ran off the shoulder and sank into mud, freaked out, spun the tires and sank even deeper. People stared. A sherrif stopped and yelled at me: “What were you doing?!” And I said, “Officer, I have to pee. Like really bad. And now I’m stuck …”
I called the nearest towing company and they pulled out the car. There is no damage. I believe I got a discount on the bill possibly because they felt sorry for me, or because I was polite, or maybe because the wind caught my dress and blew it up. It matters not.
The search continues.