It is so much fun to run away from home, I don’t know why I didn’t do it as a kid (um, probably because I couldn’t drive this cool house on wheels yet, and I would not have gotten very far on my bike.). But all kidding aside (yeah, right) as a kid, I certainly would have missed the comforts of having a roof over my head and three squares a day.
Look, Ma, I can drive! Oops, the dash police are gonna get me. (Dash police are something like trunk monkeys.) “Honest, I was only going five miles per hour, Officer Puglet. Now, get off my dash, please.”
But, there is one thing I have discovered, and that is, if you have the right accomplice (aka friend) as your partner in crime (oops, I mean, hubby), you will never go hungry.
Being the ragtag bunch of hoodlums we are, before setting out on this voyage, we had to attempt pillaging and plundering at our favorite casino, Spirit Mountain. Besides, it was free cheese Tuesday, and who can pass up free cheese, especially when it is Tillamook? Not I, not I. All things said and done, the pillaging went in reverse, and that two-pound brick of cheese, albeit all natural premium white cheddar, cost us many times the going rate at any old Safeway.
Humph. I done been robbed.
Not to be deterred, we were still determined to take some spoils of war with us as we skulked away toward the beach, licking our wounded wallets.
Remember those crabby apples from a few weeks ago?
Well, we saw them again from the Spirit Mountain RV parking lot, and being the fruit thief he is, my hubby had to get his hands on some—and he drug me and my perfect (ha ha) reputation through the mud with him on his quest for those little red devils.
My new shoes will never be the same.
After we trudged through a field and a forest of overgrown trees of all kinds, we located the one apple tree we could easily get to, without having to scale walls and jump ditches. Wouldn’t you know it? Somebody beat us to that tree. It was stripped clean. Bummer. There were other apple thieves afoot.
Again, not to be deterred, Ken sent me back up to the parking lot, pushing my rump as I tried my darnedest not to slide back down the muddy hill. Why can’t Tinker be a Saint Bernard or a husky when I need her to pull me up a hill? Instead of helping, she stood at the top, with that silly grin of hers lighting up her face. If not a sled dog, at least I had a cheering section.
I then became the lookout as Ken made his way to a big tree, full of ripe beauties but mighty close to the parking lot. Security regularly patrolled the lot. Would they reprimand us for trespassing? Would they kick us off casino property? Would we be banned from next week’s cheese Tuesday? Or would they even care?
I’ll keep that tidbit under my hat for now. I wouldn’t want to spoil anyone else’s fun.
These little beauties are destined for greatness.