Yesterday, Jeff and I were to attend a Bar Mitzvah. Our street seemed passable, but the block to the south had been cordoned off for public swimming. Taking another route, we slowly made our way through the deep streets. But my car had had enough. Three-quarters of the way through a puddle, the car died. I switched on the hazard lights. All around me, Indifferent Samaritans slowed their SUVs to get around, leaving us gently rocking in their wake.
The AAA operator was very helpful. "The tow truck will arrive within seven hours. Do not leave the vehicle." she admonished. I also called my mechanic's cell phone. "Sorry, Lydia, I can't help you. I am in Aruba. You must leave the car. If it gets any deeper, you'll float!" "But we are wearing our synagogue clothes," I moaned, "We'll have to swim to the curb." But just then a Hummer came by, drowning out his response and causing Jeff to turn a bit green with mal de mer.
A half hour and seventeen passing cars later, help was at hand. A brave little Honda Civic offered to push our car to dry land. Ahoy! We were safe and on our way to the festivities, thanks to friend and his car who offered to drive us. We arrived just as the Bar Mitzvah boy began his reading.
The Bar Mitzvah party was a lovely, if soggy, affair. The kids stayed upstairs where the computers were, and the adults chatted and ate under the outdoor tent. Being Chicagoans, we all agreed that the weather was perfect. "Not too hot, not too cold."
Today AAA suggested that we wait to summon the tow truck until the rain stops. So Jeff and I are passing the time at home. Better close this post. Jeff is calling from the basement. He has reeled in a few big ones. I better get to work if we are to have them for dinner.