I am a firm believer in Angelic Intervention. It explains 90% of my life, which is probably why whoever is looking out for me is on vacation.
The Hubsters is off to start a new job 1300 miles away and taking our only car. Yup, that's me! Stranded here in the Midwest with no mode of transportation for who knows how long, hubby-less and to cap it off I am sick out of my mind. The fact that I am blogging is miraculous for all the cold meds flowing through my veins right now.
Seeing as the angel on Alyson duty is off taking a coffee break, I have to step up to the plate, put on my big girl shorts and get with the program. What that all entails is foggy (thank you Dayquil), but according to the Hubsters the "program" means fitting me out with my very own home protection system. Brit the wonder-dog is not a very good alarm. She barks when she feels like it, growls when is suits her, and scary men have her ducking for cover. The dog exists for a "looks only" purpose.
No... what the Hubsters had in mind was a mean looking 20 gauge Semi-Automatic Shotgun.
First off, can you picture me holding this thing? I am at best 5 foot 1 if I don't hunch, a measly buck twenty and have zilcho muscle power. The fact that I can actually hold the dang thing up and aim it is amazing. The Gun Guy who sold it to me kept on laughing as I struggled to remain upright holding an assortment of 12 gauge whoppers and had to revert to the kids section. I'm standing there in a skirt and 4 inch heels trying to decide if I like the flat black or wood while the Hubsters is pushing a pink pistol at me. PINK? Since when do guns need to be pink? Anyway, I went with the black and then signed away my life and did a background check (I am totally squeaky clean, by the way).
In an odd way, I am kind of excited. Not to blow away someone who muscles through my door in the middle of the night, but that I crossed over to the other side. I may be separated from my man for a few months, be sole caretaker for my sons, and end up selling the house, packing and moving all on my own, but, damn it!, I am going to do it.
Yeah, that's my bad-ass self. I feel caught between Annie Oakley and Redneck Wonder Woman. I think my guardian angel just snorted coffee out his nose and is getting back on the job ASAP!