Was that you?
Dec 17, 2008 | 276 views | 0 0 comments | 7 7 recommendations | email to a friend | print
MY CAVE, MY VIEW by Gary Torres



I am in the car traveling again.  Because I have had to drive to a few ball games, a reception and family Christmas party lately, I have been blessed to see a good deal of the state. 



Near Manti, as we go by the turkey farm, I am minding my own business trying to get some work done on my computer when my too kind and loving wife says, “Was that you?” 



I am speechless.  She rolls the window down.  And no it wasn’t me; but I am not sure if I should be offended that I get blamed for everything just because I am present.



Time has passed and we are now on our way to Delta through Scipio; near the middle of No-Where Utah with a dairy farm nearby, my too kind and loving wife doesn’t even look over she merely asks, “Was that you?” 



It is a question much like the Declaration of Independence is a question… “we hold these truths to be self-evident.”  She rolls the window down.



We have made our way to Delta, which is the home of my new son-in-law.  After we finished cleaning up the reception and headed up to Provo via a back road through Lynndyl then Leamington, Utah, which I didn’t even, know there was a Leamington Utah. 



But, we are on the road again and traveling behind a truck that obviously transports hydrogen-sulfide.  I am still trying to recuperate from being nice to so many people; which as many of you know, is no easy task for me. 



I am busy eating my almond M&Ms and Pepsi minding my own business when my too kind and loving wife asks as calm a s a summer day, “Was that you?” 



She rolls down the window.



I suppose it is a natural assumption as there is no one else in the car, but I get tired of getting blamed for everything.  



Turbo and Daniel are no where to be found when blame is waiting to be meted out or when someone needs to vacuum.



Somewhere between Mona and Santaquin, an unfortunate skunk has met its demise and must be day old road kill. 



My too kind and loving wife who is pretending to be sleeping opens one eye and asks, “Was that you?” 



I know that I haven’t been eating very good, you never do when you are on the road, but I think her question is uncalled for, I could be offended, but I live with a dog that rolls around in dead carcasses and thinks he is the Prince of Monticello, so I don’t want to  be overly reactionary.



We stop at Wal-Mart; actually we have stopped at Wal-Marts in Richfield, Springville, Provo, Orem, and SLC looking for stuff to haul home. 



I have found a few presents for my in-laws; the Thigh-Master for one; in the bargain rack a few lead laced dolls from China, a Karl Malone work-out video called the “Butt-n-Gut Buster” and my favorite “Big Hair Music of the Eighties” 



I don’t know if I’ll give the CD away or just keep it for myself.  I try to give presents that people need or will be used so I am a little unsure about the CD, the others are right on.



Finally we are nearing home, and driving by a gas plant that must not be functioning properly.  I am napping, actually just pretending to because I don’t want to have to hear my too kind and loving wife go through her Christmas list again and see if I think all the kids got the same number of presents.



Have you ever had this conversation?  She worries (more like obsesses) about how much she bought each child.  She has to make everything fair. 



So pretty soon we have bought everybody way more than anyone on earth could possibly deserve trying each time to balance out and ensure that each child is not going to feel less loved because we bought the other child one Pez dispenser more than the other child.  Poor neglected thing.



She nudges my leg, “Was that you?” 



She rolls down the window.  I keep pretending to sleep. 



It has been a very long weekend hundreds of miles, terrible food, no exercise, and billions of people.  We have finally made it home and crawled into bed exhausted beyond belief. 



We are just about to drift off to sleep.  I cuddle up to her ear and say, “Now, that was me.”   



I’ll bet she wishes she could roll down the window.
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