Remember my complaint about the bridge traffic Monday? Here’s one of the photos Janie took while hanging out of the window.* Please note the bridge in the left distance and the single, lonely car approaching from the other direction.
To add to the joy, here’s a word problem:
Sarah has to get her daughter Janie to school on time, and then drive to work. She has allowed forty-five minutes for this which is approximately twenty minutes longer than is usually necessary.
The bridge is about 2 miles (3.218 km) past the merge arrows. Janie’s school is about a quarter mile (402.3 m) from the other end of said bridge, which is a little more than half a mile (.8 km) long. It will take twenty-five minutes (1500 min.) at the traffic’s current speed to reach the school.
How far will Sarah be able to drive from this point without giving her daughter an impromptu vocabulary lesson?
In approximately one third of a mile (531 m), Janie will suddenly remember that she didn’t have breakfast. How far will Sarah we able to drive without offering a detailed and highly graphic explanation of the DOT’s collective genealogies?
Please show your work.
Extra credit: In what way would your calculations change if this is Sarah’s view for 2.25 miles (3.62 km)?
oooOOOooo
A skeleton walks into a bar. “Bartender,” he says, “give me a beer. And a mop.”
oooOOOooo
Small Victory:
Two of my, um, foundation undergarments, long past retirement age, recently self-detonated, leaving nothing but stray underwire and a pile of exhausted elastic. The second one gave up the ghost last week—in the dryer, thank heavens, so there were no casualties—leaving me with an, ah, understaffed support system, and no time to get to the nearest Intimacy store,** which is more than three hours away.
So for the first time ever, I ordered replacements online, including a style I’d never tried in a size I was hoping would work because the color I wanted in my usual style wasn’t available.***
I sprang for three-day shipping—lest the stress on the few remaining survivors hasten their own tragic deaths—and received them yesterday.
They all fit. I repeat: They all fit.
I can’t manage that on my first trip to the dressing room of a physical store.
On second thought, this is more of a miracle than a small victory.
My question is this: should I buy a lottery ticket now or assume I’ve used up all my good luck^ for a while?
oooOOOooo
Literary Death Match
It should be clear by now that I am a complete video thief and that SBSarah over at Smart Bitches, Trashy Books is one of my favorite sources.
This is Bob Shea’s contribution to the Literary Death Match at last year’s Texas Book Festival. His first reading selection was good, but his second is priceless:
Show of hands: who is going to look for his books now — and who really wishes the second one was for sale?
oooOOOooo
And one last Douglas Adams quote:
“I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.”
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*She managed two before I realized the flash was coming from the outside of the car. It’s a wonder sometimes that my heart still beats . . .
**Which I recommend to anyone, of any size, shape, placement, or problem. Historically, I would rather wrap my torso in razor wire than go bra shopping (don’t ask me about swimsuits). But Intimacy has fitters, who fit you and stick with you until you’re comfortable and everything’s exactly where you want it. Pricey? A bit, even if you don’t have to use a whole tank of gas to get there. Worth it? Absolutely.
***Note to my male readers, should you exist: if you don’t understand why this is a risky move, you’ve just defined male privilege—congratulations.
^Or, rather, the good luck MacDougal Street Baby so generously shared with me last Monday.
Earful of Cider 
I have been stuck in my own head, probably a good thing, but man is there an echo, trying to work out some things that involve me as a mom, a person, a daughter, the book, yadda yadda.
Thank you for writing what you do, and bringing a smile to my face about your daughter hanging out a car window and the joy we all feel when we get those undergarments that actually fit.
Seriously, thank you for a break from my head. This post just made me smile. Phew.
Any time, Lyra—thank you. You’ve done the same for me!
Great video! I smiled a bit at book one (esp his comment about if you are too cool to roar, do so ironically) but that second one is hilarious. Thanks for a laugh to start a grey morning.
Glad you liked it! I think every parent feels the tension in the first reading—so much foreshadowing, so much tension . . . will he make it? Run., Dinosaur! Run!
I only wish I knew what the Dinosaur wsa saying to his agent—I can’t read the voice balloon.
I love Janie’s pictures! I didn’t spend much time in a car growing up but whenever I did find myself on a highway, I was always mesmerized by vehicles that had ladders. For some reason, I always thought they led to a pool that was magically situated on the truck’s roof. Gotta love kids!
There really is nothing more satisfying than securing a bra that fits. I get it. I do.
That presentation? Those books? Hysterical.
I wanted to hold onto those ladders and ride down the road, peeking over the top of the tanker . . . but somewhere along the line I noticed that little warning sign with the flame on it, and asked my parents what it meant.
Reality Wins!
At 1.6 miles per hour, the distance traveled prior to the vocabulary lesson should be approximately 3 times that traveled after receiving the lack of breakfast notification. Therefore, 3x-y=.32 (carry the 1)
Two things I never buy online: undergarments and shoes. Kudos to you for winning that battle.
I’m giving you a gold star out of sheer admiration. As I’ve admitted before, I became a librarian because I was told there was no math requirement. They lied to me, but still . . .
I can’t buy shoes online — my feet were oddly sized even before carrying (and chasing) two children morphed them into pseudopods.