Sylph's stirred the air and for 7 minutes I was devoid of sensibilities. Yes, blame the Sylphs!
Better yet, tell the truth! It was the dolls, I tell ya, it was the dolls!
Like sirens, they beguiled me with their set smiles, crowns of curls, and fancy luxurious gowns. Their visage called, I turned my head to look them full in the face. Were they for sale, what was their price, would a granddaughter like one for Christmas?
BOOM!
Disaster!
What the heck was that???? Well, ut-hum, it was me. I'd struck a pole! An electrical pole! Driving the golf cart, ignoring Jeani who was making a Marco Polo, and looking back at the dolls, I'd hit a pole. I didn't just hit it, though, I scraped alongside so hard that it took the mounted electrical box off!
Red faced. Hanging head. I braked to a "Stop!" Adding to my shame, 4 men in another golf cart passed by, grinning!
One said, "Don't worry 'bout it. You just took the box off. It can be reattached."
Oh, Lord, people saw!!!!
That was one.
Here I must digress and tell you an old joke. It's about newlyweds driving a buggy who's horse stepped in the ditch. Groom says, "That's one." They drive on, horse stumbles, groom says, "That's two." They continue, horse stops, groom says, "That's three." and shoots him dead. Back in the buggy the upset new wife says, "Why'd you shoot our horse, now what're we gonna do?" Groom says, "That's one."
Upset. Embarrassed. I drove on.
We were looking for the other golf cart, the one my son was driving, with my brother and his son-in-law. Scanning through the hordes of swappers, looking for that one telltale sign that said "It's them!" I didn't see.
It was only 7 minutes devoid of sensibilities.
Jeani screamed, "Forks!"
What?
She nervously giggled, insisted, "Forks! See the forks! Don't run into them!"
I didn't see packages of plasticware, I didn't see a hay pitchfork, I didn't see a fork in the road!
"Stop!"
I stopped. I tell you now the top of the golf cart windshield was folded down. That meant there were 2 panes of glass - and they were dirty. They were dirty from the mud and the dust of driving up and down 44 acres of men's world of tools, engines, and tractors. We were on aisle F.
And Jeani was loudly insisting I stop to avoid the forks. Never seeing the forks, I stopped.
Then vision zoomed in. It clarified. I saw two 4 foot long tines lo-o-ow to the ground poking towards my front tires. Ut-oh.
I looked up. I looked 10 feet up!
The driver was patiently sitting high in his seat, arms crossed, waiting for acknowledgement! His eyes were steady on me.
I kid you not, this thing was imposing! It was big. 'Bout 20 feet long. It was tall. 'Bout 10 feet tall. It was bulky and gray and red. It was a Manitou telescoping stackhandler. And it was gonna fork me!
Sheesh! Another disaster! Jeani averted!
That was two.
I drove around the forks.
We were still keeping an eye out for the other golf cart full of family. I'm nervous. I'm totally embarrassed. I'm wishing someone else was driving, my mind's disturbed.
For the third time Jeani hollers at me.
She's a good shotgun rider, you know, like men of the wagon train, one holds the horses' reins, the other front seat cowboy sits with a rifle in his lap watching out for predators and "them there injuns" -- riding shotgun.
She hollers, "Man! Don't hit that man!"
What man?
What man is she talkin'' 'bout?
It wasn't that six foot tall man was it? The Caucasian, wearing white pants that I'd just went around? I wasn't gonna hit him!
That was three.
We came upon the family, they had TWO golf carts, I wasn't expecting that. We stopped. We chatted. Jeani told all. I'm thinking, "These stories will never die." Three carts abreast, we clogged aisle E.
That's it. I'm done. It had only taken 7 minutes of Sylph's stirring the air of senselessness for me to give up the reins.
Jeani's driving!
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