Purple...Like Barney
So I needed a ride home from an injection in my back. Being that Kathy had to work and since Matt is entrenched in Camp Clifford, we decided that we'd have to get the boy up five hours before he usually rises to accompany me.
We didn't talk much on the way there as we listened to Howard. I pointed out all the cars on the road at the early hour.
"These people are headed off to work," I chided.
(I used that word for Kim).
"They're stupid," Matt responded.
The injections were a lot of fun. A bit of numbness, not a lot of pain. The doc seemed anxious to move on to the next guy in the row of chairs. He promised answers soon, handed me a slip of paper that told me not to go immediately back to work as I wanted to, and we were on our way.
"How do I get back to the Thruway?" Matt asked.
"You've lived here for 19 years," I said.
"I never come up this way."
"Follow the signs to 290 East," I said.
He made good turns, checked the mirrors, hands on ten and two. Howard was back on, the back still numb, we were all good.
Except he took 90 East from there, following the signs to Albany.
"West!" I called out, but it was too late. We were heading in the opposite direction.
"Really?" I asked.
"How am I supposed to know?" He asked. "What do we do now?"
"We have to go to Albany," I said.
A moment passed. He looked real nervous. Something must have clicked.
"There has to be an exit before Albany," he said.
We approached the toll booths. I was tempted to just see how he'd react. How would he get us home?
"Get in the E-Z Pass lane," I said. "It's purple; the color of Barney," I said. "You remember Barney, right? 'I love you, you love me.'"
"Okay, okay, then what?" He asked. "I'll get off at 78."
"And which way do you go?" I asked.
"North," he said.
We were in serious trouble. All this time. All the money. All the high hopes.
"We live south or west of Amherst," I said. "When we leave the house we head north or east to the city."
Thankfully we arrived at home before the numbness wore off. I thanked him for the little joy ride.
"All good," he said. "What else can I do for you?"
I used one of my Dad's favorite all-time lines:
"Do me a favor...don't do me any favors."
But it was fun.
I spent the rest of the day singing him the song to Barney's Greatest Hit.
We didn't talk much on the way there as we listened to Howard. I pointed out all the cars on the road at the early hour.
"These people are headed off to work," I chided.
(I used that word for Kim).
"They're stupid," Matt responded.
The injections were a lot of fun. A bit of numbness, not a lot of pain. The doc seemed anxious to move on to the next guy in the row of chairs. He promised answers soon, handed me a slip of paper that told me not to go immediately back to work as I wanted to, and we were on our way.
"How do I get back to the Thruway?" Matt asked.
"You've lived here for 19 years," I said.
"I never come up this way."
"Follow the signs to 290 East," I said.
He made good turns, checked the mirrors, hands on ten and two. Howard was back on, the back still numb, we were all good.
Except he took 90 East from there, following the signs to Albany.
"West!" I called out, but it was too late. We were heading in the opposite direction.
"Really?" I asked.
"How am I supposed to know?" He asked. "What do we do now?"
"We have to go to Albany," I said.
A moment passed. He looked real nervous. Something must have clicked.
"There has to be an exit before Albany," he said.
We approached the toll booths. I was tempted to just see how he'd react. How would he get us home?
"Get in the E-Z Pass lane," I said. "It's purple; the color of Barney," I said. "You remember Barney, right? 'I love you, you love me.'"
"Okay, okay, then what?" He asked. "I'll get off at 78."
"And which way do you go?" I asked.
"North," he said.
We were in serious trouble. All this time. All the money. All the high hopes.
"We live south or west of Amherst," I said. "When we leave the house we head north or east to the city."
Thankfully we arrived at home before the numbness wore off. I thanked him for the little joy ride.
"All good," he said. "What else can I do for you?"
I used one of my Dad's favorite all-time lines:
"Do me a favor...don't do me any favors."
But it was fun.
I spent the rest of the day singing him the song to Barney's Greatest Hit.
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