honeymoon

Remember on Tuesday when I told you to come back to hear about how my cousin, Timmy, sold a mouse-infested car to this little sister, Bessie? Well, here we go. I honestly don’t remember all of the details very well here (Timmy, Keith, Bessie, and Alfred can probably add some more clarity in the comment section) but basically, Timmy and Keith had a Honda CR-V, but they had just welcomed their second child, and were upgrading to the pimpmobile Honda Odyssey that Keith has now. Nothing was wrong with the CR-V, and Bessie and Alfred were in the market for a new vehicle, so a sale was arranged. This was right around the time of Bessie and Alfred’s wedding, so there was a lot of activity, and Bessie and Alfred didn’t really need the CR-V until they returned from their honeymoon. Timmy and Keith stored the vehicle in a shed for them, but not before I got a ride home in the vehicle with Timmy the Sunday after Bessie and Alfred’s wedding. Our family congregated at the “wedding hotel” for Casey’s breakfast pizza, mimosas, and to see B&A off on their honeymoon. For whatever reason, I rode home from that gathering with Timmy, and we both noticed a slight stench in the car, but it wasn’t anything major. I mean, Bev was riding in it at noon the day after a wedding and not dry heaving, so you know it really wasn’t a horrible smell.  We stopped off at a gas station which housed a Taco John’s so that Timmy could buy an air freshener for the car (and so I could get some Potato Oles- duh). Timmy dropped me off at home, went to his house, and the car/smell were quickly forgotten.

Until Bessie and Alfred returned from their honeymoon (the one where they literally escaped a hurricane). This is where my memories/knowledge of the mousuation are hazy, but I am pretty sure the smell was still there (slightly more potent) and that… well, one day when Alfred was driving the car, I believe a baby mouse rolled across the passenger seat floor mat and all hell kinda broke loose. I believe Alfred was able to get rid of the baby mouse (don’t come at us about what he did with it, because I’m pretty sure it doesn’t involve a cage, a a shoe box lined with soft hay, or a damn hamster wheel for activity time) and then they called my dad to see if they could stop by his house after work. You see, “Uncle Smoke” is a mechanic and, while he certainly doesn’t specialize in Honda CR-Vs (or any cars for that matter), he does know how to take a lot of shit apart and put it back together correctly.

So, Bessie, Alfred, Uncle Bart, and Aunt Sue came over to the Goldenstein farm after work for a little happy hour mouse hunt. Was it fruitful? I’ll let you see for yourself below.

That’s Uncle Bart in the red shirt. Another reason they asked Uncle Smoke for help…

There he is. If your jeans aren’t tucked into your cowboy boots for your mouse hunt, you might as well go home.

That mess of stuff is basically what they pulled out of the oven on the 4th…

And, the pièce de résistance.

Again, I’m not sure on the rest of the details (if there were more mice, etc.) but I do know that Uncle Smoke was rewarded with a bottle of one of his favorite whiskeys (Bulleit for those wondering) and that Bessie and Alfred still have the CR-V. And that Bessie and Alfred will probably never buy a vehicle from Timmy and Keith again.

-Beverly “Don’t Quit Your Day Job, Timmy” Goldenstein

It’s been five years since I posted and I’ll save you the I’veBeenUpAt4:30amAlmostEveryDayForTheLastMonth spiel, and try to get my tired ass in gear (I know you miss me). But for now, I want to share a little life snippet.

I’ve always said that I’m not necessarily the person you want to have around in an emergency (see startle reflex for Exhibit A and my life/this blog for Exhibits B-Z times infinity..), and I really hope that nothing life-threatening ever happens near or around me.

This theory was proven this week when cousin Bessie and Alfred found themselves directly in the path of Hurricane Irma on their honeymoon. Bessie’s texts became increasingly frantic from Monday evening into Tuesday afternoon, and the whole Page family has been in a bit of a tizzy as Bessie and Alfred have had one hell of a time getting out of the Dominican Republic and into a safe, dry resort. (dry, as in physically, not alcoholically) Uncle Bart was able to get them to Aruba, but not after an absolutely hellacious 24+ hours of planes, trains, and automobiles. Add in shaky electricity, not speaking the language, a smoky smell upon take-off, all on top of an impending Category 5 hurricane, and all chaos was starting to ensue. 

Turns out, that in an emergency, my advice is to hoard peanut butter from any open buffet you can find and to stuff any cash in your body cavities.

Fight or flight?

More like, “Find a bite; get cash outta sight.“

You’re welcome.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I really am getting up at 4:30 again tomorrow, and I need to go rummage through my cabinets for my ZzzQuil.

I (along with the Page family) will sleep much more soundly tonight, knowing Bessie and Alfred are out of harm’s way. And I won’t be accepting cash from them anytime soon.

-Bev

P.S.- thoughts and prayers to all affected by the recent (and imminent) hurricanes. And fires. Seriously, what is even happening?