The Westbrook Curse

It happens all the time. To me. The Westbrook Curse.

This is the part I call, "History"

Yesterday, I received a call from VISA letting me know that there was some "fraudulant" activity on Pa and Ma's cards. I called them back to let them know that I had actually made an online purchase for 5.00 US on the internet to send Auntie a funny Valentine card. So, no fraud was commited because it was me. On my card. Which is great because they were just checking that it was me.

This is the part I call, "Declined"

I load Sha in the car to go to his Grandpa and Grandma McF's house. I fill the truck with gas and hand her my VISA. The very lonely lady takes my card into the station and tries to use it. It is declined twice. I swear (in my head) because I figure that they must not have unlocked our VISA from the fraud department. Grr. I always pay with my VISA for gas so I don't have to unload Sha. Sha is sleeping. I grab my debit card and go into the station.

This is the part I call, "I locked my fricken baby in the car with the keys"

So, I pay for my gas and I feel panic rise up in my throat. A lump that I can't swallow. I locked my baby in the car. Are you freaken kidding? Who would do that?

This is the part I call, "CAA"

I call CAA and get the tow truck driver to come and unlock the car. Lonely lady continues to tell me about her story about riding the Che-che-mon (not helping). I continue to try and talk to CAA and the story continues about the Che-che-mon. I go out to the truck to wait. Lonely lady follows. Repeats Che-che-mon story. Lady! Maybe you didn't notice, but I locked my @#$%ing kid in my car. She lets me know I should get a spare. I do. It is locked in the car. With my main key.

This is the part I call, "Small towns"

Tow truck driver knows me. He reminds me that last time he came to tow my car, I locked the keys in it when he arrived. That is not funny right now. Because my baby is in the @#$%ing car. Tow truck driver works and works and works and works and works. Ma sweats and worries and panics and wishes Pa was here because he doesn't panic. Ever. Great-grandma drives by. I wave. Hi. Trying to look calm. I don't need her panicing too. That won't help. She drives on.

This is the part I call, "Stuck"

The slim jim, used to open the door thingy, is stuck in my door. The door is open, hooray. One hour has passed. The metal rod is sticking out of my door. Budge. Nope. Pull. Push. Nope. Stuck.

This is the part I call, "Trip to the Garage"

Ma has to drive with the metal rod sticking out of her window/door to another town to the garage. The mechanic takes the door panel off. 20 minutes. Gets the rod unstuck.

This is the part I call, "Screaming at VISA"

But I didn't. But I wanted to. The girl was nice and apologied and really it was a mistake. It is fixed. Mistakes happen. Baby is safe. VISA is turned back on. Phewf.

This is the part I call, "When Nice Things Go Bad"

Come home. Unload baby. Dog ate favourite shoe. Message on the machine from the flower store saying that my Valentine's Day flowers from Pa are not paid for because they couldn't get our VISA to work because there has been a fraudulant purchase made on it. No kidding. Can we call VISA?!?

$5.00 purchase
$50.00 CAA membership
$45.00 gas
$50.00 roses

Moments like these. Priceless.

Blond is a state of mind.