Guess I’ll just have to start walking.
Actually, there are a LOT of things right now that are scaring me…not for me but I look around and think, “What have I brought these kids into?” I feel like I’m walking around on the verge of panic. (That may be the most adult instinct I’ve ever had. I don’t think worrying about whether or not my implants are leaking qualifies.)
I drive a mid-size, seven year old Volvo. The ultimate Mama Car. Safe, secure and caked with multiple layers of on-the-road fast food. It works, it gets us there and if some idiot side-swipes me well, I have a fighting chance. (Plus, as I’ve pointed out, I could be manufacturing crack cocaine in the trunk and no one would look at me twice. The car seat thing.)
Last week, it cost me $62 to fill up my car. Sixty. Two. Dollars. Now, I understand some of you have been paying more but you’re filling up a Vehicle. I’m filling up a Mama Car and honey, that just ain’t right. Sixty-two dollars. That’s family night at LaHacienda, with margaritas…I have priorities, if nothing else.
We have a plan in the grocery store…considering these kids eat EVERYTHING. As in, fresh green stuff. RAW green stuff. Seafood. Rare steaks. You put it on the table and they’re in…so keeping this place stocked with fruit and vegetables is a full-time job. They go to produce and pick out whatever is less than $1 a pound…grapes, apples, pears, mangos…it doesn’t matter. If it’s less than a dollar a pound you can buy it. (Except starfruit. I don’t have anything against the fruit itself but that shit is hairy and brown. I divorced a man like that, once.)
Friday? The only thing less than a dollar a pound was bananas. Even the off apples in the bags were $4.49 for three pounds. We drink five gallons of milk a week and it’s $3.89 a gallon…cheaper than gas, just about, but that’s not the point.
The Big Boy is a salesman, one of the top five in the nation within his company. He’s good. Right now? Salesmen travel…that’s what they do. It’s why women like me marry them…glad to see you leave and glad to see you come back. But if you’re a salesman and you travel, your company pays for your gas and if gas is $4 a gallon and climbing…you sit your ass in the office. On the phone, hoping your stellar personality carries well across telephone wires.
WTF? How do people on limited incomes function? What do you do if you have to choose between food and gas? What if you don’t have money in the bank? Or you’re disabled? Or…hell, I don’t know. I just know that somehow, somewhere (and I believe it’s evil and evil has a name and the name is W) something has gone waaaaay wrong. Way, way wrong.
We should be afraid. Very afraid.