This Is Not About Girl’s Weekend

Something happened last weekend.
Last weekend was Girl’s Weekend. But, this isn’t about that.

Twice a year…usually April and October a dozen or so women (several of whom are my sisters) and myself gather for a 4 day weekend away from the menfolk. There is drinking, eating, debauchery and general partying.
But, this isn’t about that.

Some of the “sisters” think I should blog about Girl’s Weekend. I think that Girl’s Weekend is kind of like Vegas. What happens at Girls’s Weekend stays at Girl’s Weekend.

Unfortunately, Girl’s Weekend tends to land on a production weekend for me. What this means is that instead of being able to participate in the time honoured 4 day ritual (Friday to Monday) I have to choose one day to spend with my “sisters”.  This is not about that, either.

This is also not about the fact that He Who Shall Remain Nameless for his own protection, scheduled me to be available for three plumbers to come and give a quote on some work on that one day I had set aside. This managed to eat up half the day. Of course, I now live approximately 190 km from the chosen location for Girl’s Weekend which pretty much means another 4 hours (2 each way) was used up. No, this is not about that, either.

This is about what happened on the way home from Girl’s Weekend.  Very late Saturday night, shortly after midnight.

Some people think I am pretty hard on vehicles. I have been driving since before I was old enough to. I have driven Buicks, Corvettes, Minis and pretty much everything in between. Usually, they belonged to my Dad, my boyfriend, my sister or friend. The very first car that ever had my name on the ownership was a used 1976 Monte Carlo.  This ownership immediately made the brother of my good friend “Cutes“, Stan, my mechanic.  One day while I was cruising in the Monte Carlo it stopped dead in the middle of a left hand turn at the one of the busiest intersections in St. Catharines. I called Stan, who made arrangements to get the car and me to Niagara Falls.  That evening Stan called. The conversation went something like this.

Stan: Michelle, when is the last time you had the oil changed in the car?

Me: I swear, every time the oil light comes on I fill it up.

Stan: When is the last time you changed the oil?

Me: What do you mean change?

Needless to say the engine had seized and Stan had his work cut out for him training me to be a proper car owner. Who knew?

The second car I owned was was a 1990 Diesel Volkswagon Golf. We had lots of adventures together and that car saved my life. I always say that I would probably still be driving that car if I had not committed “Autocide”.  I was on my way to my sister’s wedding. It was pouring rain.  There was an accident on the highway so I got off and took an alternate route which took me up Effingham Road.  Effingham Road is one of those roads that bikers love. It goes up and down hill while snaking left and right at the same time.  Of course, hopefully, they aren’t driving in the rain and they don’t blow a tire in a turn and roll their car from end to end.  I was told that the only thing that saved my life was the built in roll bar. Who knew?

I am now the owner of a 2000 Honda Civic.  We have been together since it was bright and shiny new.  Yes, we have had our moments. We have been rear ended not once, not twice but three times.  Each time the bumper did its job. It lined up perfectly and absorbed the impact so there was no damage to the car.  The last time, when I saw the woman approaching me from behind…not stopping…because she was chatting with the elderly lady in the passenger seat, I braced myself. Bang! We both got out. She looked and said, “Oh, good there’s no damage”. I said, “There never is…just to my neck”.  My windshield seems to be a magnet for the biggest rocks thrown up by the 18 wheelers. Seriously, I could play dot to dot with the holes and chips. Here’s the thing, for some reason none of the 27 chips in my window are in the drivers sightline.  For some unexplained reason the windshield refuses to crack. Seriously, it is like…magic.

A Few Of The More Photogenic Boulder Chips In My Windshield

Both the heater and the air conditioning gave up long ago. We managed to get the heater fixed so I can actually defrost that chipped window, but the air conditioning is apparently beyond hope.  I usually drive with all four windows open in the summer.

Saturday night. Very late. After midnight. In the dark. I had to pull off the highway in a not too safe area so I could share something with you. That’s right it was a photo op I could not pass up.

My Honda Civic and I went from this…

to this…

Now that’s what this is about!

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