While visiting Iowa last week, I resided with my Gma in her studio apartment at a retirement home.
I not only found myself without Internet access along with shitty phone service and an overabundance of daytime TV, I also found myself without a vehicle among miles and miles of cornfields.
Although we love one another, being cooped up in 400 square feet with someone for days can lead one to be a tad
irritated edgy claustrophobic.
We decided that venturing a few blocks to the town square shouldn’t be too big of a feat. And while Gma is perfectly capable of walking, traipsing up and down streets isn’t her strong suit at 91, so we borrowed a vehicle from her buddy.
We were a traffic stopping duo, as cars had to wait for minutes while I popped wheelies to get Gma up and over a curb to the restaurant where we intended to be ladies who lunch.
After scooping the loop down Main Street a time or two, Gma announced that she was thirsty and I kicked into a gear so high I think I left a trail of smoke knowing a cold bottle of wine awaited our arrival.
We decided it was best to sit out on the porch and watch everyone else (while we also talked about them) drive by in actual vehicles as we sipped (well, she swigged, I gulped) our evening vino.
Who needs a rental car when you can wheel it around town?
That’s just how we roll.