I need a minivan

As most of you already know, I drink Diet Dr. Pepper. I need it every day. I try to limit myself to two or three cans a day which I know is terrible but it is what allows me to be human in the morning. It helps me “play well with others.” Unfortunately, I occasionally run out of my precious Diet Dr. Pepper. Or, sometimes my husband drinks the last one without telling me or replacing it. He is always very sorry afterwards, on many levels.

Earlier this summer, I had run out of my nectar from heaven and I was getting desperate. This wouldn’t be a problem for most people, right? You would get into the car, drive to any gas station, fast food restaurant, grocery store, whatever, and buy yourself a cold one. But for me it is a problem in that I had five kids with me that day. And I own a car that does not accommodate five car seats. In my desperation, I came up with an idea. There is a gas station that is probably half a mile from our house. I can almost see it from home. So, I put the two babies into my double stroller and put the two next youngest kids into the wagon. The last kid was my own so he had to suck it up and walk. I attempted to push the stroller, which is approximately ten feet long and 300 lbs while I pulled the wagon. It was not easy. We walked and walked and I was sweating profusely and my hand was getting a cramp from steering the stroller one-handed. Two kids had started to cry and there were buzzards circling overhead. Then I looked back and to my dismay saw that we hadn’t even gone a block yet. Defeated, I turned our little parade around and went home to think of another way to get through the day.

But that isn’t the point of this story. The point of this story is that I was telling a friend about this day. And he told me, “Next time you get that desperate, please call me.”

I thought it was so nice that he would offer to take time out of his day to bring me a drink. I wouldn’t have thought of asking someone to bring me a drink – it seems so silly. But now that he had offered…

“Oh, I don’t know – I would feel bad asking someone to get me a Diet Dr. Pepper and bring it to me,” I told him.

And he replied, “No, I don’t want to bring you a drink. I want to take a picture of you trying to get to the gas station with all those kids.”

What a turd bucket.