Road Trippin’

This weekend, Lord Kissington and I took our only trip of the summer, an overnighter to Scranton, PA. Yes, I know, how depressing is it that my only time away this summer was to a place I had zero interest in? But we did have that fabulous vacation in England in the spring, so I really shouldn’t complain. The object of this trip was to attend a Kissingon family get-together, a party to celebrate the upcoming wedding of a cousin (the wedding is going to be very small and far far away, so this was basically the reception). The party was pretty nice. It was held in the former Scranton family estate on the grounds of the University of Scranton. I met about 800 Kissington relatives and had basically the same conversation with all of them.

Relative: So, you’re getting married.
Me: Yes. Yes, we are.
Relative: Well, that’s great.
Me: Yes. Yes, it is.

About midway through the party, I came to an interesting realization: Everyone at this party was really short. You see, I am a mere 5’3. I rarely go out in public without at least a small heel, and that day, I was wearing 2 inch ones, so I was standing 5’5. Not an impressive height by any means, but I was actually taller than many people in the room. This never happens to me. Even children these days are taller than I am (what are they putting in those school lunches?). I was surprised because Lord Kissington’s immediate family are all above average height. Apparently, the height comes from the other side of the family.

After the party, we checked into the perfectly adequate Comfort Inn and then headed out to a relative’s house for more festivities. Lord Kissington’s immediate family were all staying on the same floor, and they all (mom, dad, two brothers, sister, brother-in-law, niece, and nephew) came out of their rooms at the same time and headed for the elevator. Here’s where we ran into a little problem. You see, I am severely elevator-phobic. This is no mere irrational anxiety. I have been trapped in elevators twice, and both times were pretty bad and the doors had to pried open. The last time, the elevator dropped a floor and started to shake. I am also really claustrophobic, so put that together with the elevator phobia, and I end up taking the stairs a lot. The whole family goes to get on the elevator, and I realize there will be 10 of us in the small, rather creaky elevator. Everyone else gets on and I start frantically signally to Lord Kisssington. I ask him, pathetically, if we can take the stairs. I say, “I’m, ummh, afraid of elevators” and scurry off to find the stairs. The adults are too polite to say anything, but as the door shuts, I hear one of the kids ask why we’re not riding the elevator with them. I can picture Mommy saying, “Well, sweetie, your future aunt is what we call ‘the crazy.’”

On our way back to the hotel that night, the car made a horrible noise and we pulled off into a parking lot, where we discovered a flat tire. While Lord Kissington was setting up the jack, a man pulled in and shined his lights so we could see. He got out of his car and ended up changing the tire for us in about two minutes. When he first pulled up, I was afraid he was a serial killer, because I am paranoid, but he turned out to be just a good samaritan, and we were extremely grateful.

Unfortunately, the flat tire meant that we had to spend Sunday morning getting it fixed, although it turned out to be a good thing in the end. A couple of years back, I wore my favorite tiara on New Year’s Eve. The night pretty much sucked, and by the time we were heading home, I took the tiara off and put it in my pocket. When I got home, it was gone. I was very bummed because I loved this tiara, and I haven’t been able to find another one like it. While we were waiting for the car, we wandered around the mail. Lord Kissington spied a videogame store, and I amused myself at Claire’s Accessories. To my delight, they had my tiara. It was exactly the same, so I snatched it right up. So that flat tire was totally worth it.