When I was in high school, my Mom bought an OLD Cadillac.  It was a really dark, olive, drab green covered with bond-o and primer.  We christened it the Camouflage CadillacWe didn’t want our friends to think we were poor so we made up a story about it being owned by a General and that it was his official vehicle while he traveled for the military.  Nobody ever asked why it was only a 2 door!  I guess at the official functions he would climb out of the back seat and over the front one. 

There were many stories involving this car.  Once we were returning from the mall in Parkersburg (an hour and a half away from Sistersville where we lived at the time) and it had started to snow.  Then the roads got icy.  Pat was driving and once you got the caddy moving it took a whole lot to stop its momentum.  It needed about 100 Mississippis to get to a complete stop. 

Anywho, we were motoring home when all of a sudden we started to slide going over a bridge.  I believe we did one or two 360s and then went sliding toward the side of the bridge and ended up hitting it head on.  After we bounced off of that and spun a bit more we hit the other side with the tail end.  We were really worried that we had really damaged the Caddy and that Mom was going to murder us.  We got out to check and with all of that impact at 55 miles per hour, the Caddy only had a slight ding in the front bumper and a scratch on the back one.  This car was built like a freaking tank!  Had to be when they made the cars from steel!

So we then nicknamed it The Tank

After a while the doors got to be really hard to open.  It took the strength of Hercules to get it to give.  Perhaps, the bridge did do a bit of damage we didn’t see?  Coming home from a night out of partying and trying to get them open was a real feat.  One particular evening I had given the keys to my friend, Becky, as I was well…WAY…WAY, WAY, WAY…beyond the legal limit to drive.  I asked her to park the Caddy so my door was facing the hill down to our house.  We lived at the bottom of a grade from the place we parked the car.  The hill was so steep that you had to zig zag your way down otherwise you would be in a full run by the time you reached the bottom and out of control. 

Becky parked the car and then I attempted to get out of it.  I pushed my shoulder against the door and nothing and then again with all my might and the door gave.  The force of the bump tossed me out of the car and I began to roll…and roll…and roll…and roll…all the way to the bottom.  I stopped rolling when I hit the side of the house right by the kitchen window where my DAD was sitting. 

My Dad, who thought I was an angel and the perfect daughter, was in the kitchen and waiting for me.  I was really drunk and this was very bad.  You know drunk people cannot be quiet and you can imagine what my Dad heard.  Me uttering a few expletives and asking my friend, Becky, to hold me up so my Dad wouldn’t know I was drunk.  He then opened the door and I did my best impression of sober I could muster.  I gave him a kiss on the cheek and headed for my room.  I fooled him! 

I THOUGHT!

The next morning, bright and early, with the roosters crowing in the barely lit sky my Dad came into my room and announced that we were going to work in the garden today and he had made me some eggs…very runny eggs…and I needed to hop to it!  (The egg reference was to make me sick.  I cannot eat eggs and am not sure where it started, but I detest them.  I cannot even eat french toast if it has egg bits hanging off of it. EWWWWW…)

You didn’t tell my Dad no!  So I dragged myself out with my head splitting in half and went out to the garden.  Hoe a bit…hurt a lot…hoe some more…try not to hit the floor…  I think I saw my Dad laughing at me once or twice, but in my stupor was not completely sure. 

I can guarantee you that when he was around I didn’t drink.  Perhaps, he wanted it that way! 

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