Blue Moon in Kentucky

The two-lane mountain road was deserted. Steve always drove when we were in his neck of the woods. We pulled over and parked in an open spot with a good view of the night sky.

Trauma Car mostly blocked one lane on the curvy road. We figured we'd hear a car coming in plenty of time to move out of the way. Since the door handles had long since broken off we climbed over the back seat and out the hatchback.

Steve believed sitting in the middle of the road should be done in the buff. We threw our clothes in the back of Trauma Car and sat facing each other on the double yellow line drinking Asti, smoking cigarettes and talking. Honest...that's all...get your mind out of the gutter!

The unmistakable sound of a car approaching urged us to action. We ran to the car, dove through the hatchback and climbed over the back seat. Steve turned the key and Trauma Car wouldn't start. Uh oh.

Still naked, I climbed back over the seat and out the hatchback to push the car so Steve could pop the clutch. After it started, I dove through the hatchback and climbed back to my seat. We were on our way with only seconds to spare.

About ten minutes later we drove over a pothole in heavy traffic in downtown Paintsville. The battery hit the hood. The lights went dark and Trauma Car rolled to a stop. Honking started immediately--only this time, we're both naked.

There was only one option. I mooned half the population of Paintsville as I climbed over the back seat. Somehow, I managed to slide into gym shorts before emerging from the hatchback to push the car so Steve could pop the clutch.

I steered while Steve got dressed. We decided to stop at the Dairy Barn for a snack. Somebody locked the keys in the car. I wasn't driving so I hardly see how it could have been me or my fault in anyway. Just saying.

The keys were in the ignition. We needed them to open the hatchback to get back in the car. Perhaps I could hook them with a coat hanger.

It didn't take nearly as long as expected to retrieve the keys. The kind people at the Dairy Barn gave me a coat hanger. I straightened it out and started feeding it through the passenger side window. Seconds later the window exploded into a billion little fragments. Problem solved.

I smiled all the way back to Lexington. Even the rain coming through the plastic taped over the passenger side window wasn't enough to wipe the smile from my face. Ignorance is bliss. Had I know what was coming as a result of this one weekend...