Why yes, I am having an out-of-body experience. Thank you.

This past weekend was a whirlwind of places I was never really meant to be.

Specifically, tractor supply stores.

I live in a town where a store called “Rural King” really is king. I’ve been there once in five years (before Saturday), and that was to meet my husband’s grandparents and lead them to our house. I really just don’t know how to feel about a store that sells live chickens, tractors, tennis shoes and popcorn all in the same section.

But Saturday was all about the Mister – finding work clothes, coveralls, boots, scrubs and other vet school supplies to pack in preparation for our move. And where else do you find farm boy work clothes than at a farm boy store? It was an eye-opening experience.

ASIDE: Did you know you can buy chicken coops that look like real houses????

This thing has more rooms than our apartment!

This thing has more rooms than our apartment!

Anyway, you could definitely tell I was out of my element. Even my CAR was out of place between all the crew cab trucks in the parking lot. The looks on the store clerks’ faces when I went over to ask about coveralls (the Mister was in the dressing room) were priceless, though. It’s as if they couldn’t figure out how a girl like me even knew what coveralls ARE, much less was actually in the store looking for them. (In fact, I asked myself that same question at several points during the shopping experience.)

Later Saturday afternoon, while at H&R Block getting our taxes finished, the guy filling out our forms got to the question, “Is the tax payer or the spouse deceased?” and actually confirmed, “And neither of you are deceased, correct?”

I wanted so badly to say, “Well yes, actually, I am,” but he didn’t look like one to take the joke too well, so I kept it to myself. Poor guy.

After much discussion, the Mister declared that we are no longer to talk about either of us being deceased. We are, however, allowed to discuss the possibility of being “decreased.”

(Start video at 7:00 if it doesn’t jump there on its own.)

And, in other Nut House News, hooray for post #50!!!! Come on now everyone, do the happy dance with me! 😀

happy dance

Do you have a story about being out of your element? Do you even have an element? Enlighten us. 🙂

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Where in the World is Hwy 54?

My Tennessee map says Martin and Trenton are connected by two key highways: south 45 and south 54.

The problem, though, as the mister and I discovered early Friday morning, is that west Tennessee confuses the poop out of Google maps.

The directions we printed said to turn right onto highway 54/Main Street about 20 minutes south of Martin. Well, there is a Main Street intersection in Greenfield (about 20 minutes south of Martin). This intersection also has a sign indicating that highway 54 north branches to the left.

So, logically, to follow 54 south we turned right at this intersection. We drove around a school and through some dead-end residential areas for ten minutes before deciding this was definitely not a highway and was not going to take us to Trenton.

So we take option number two: continue south of Greenfield on highway 45. We got to Bradford and found a sign that said 54, with no directions or other instructions to help the wayward traveler. We turn right, hoping this is the right highway. Again, ten minutes of wandering and no luck.

By this point, 8 a.m. (our appointment time in Trenton) is getting closer and we’re no closer to figuring out how to get there. I’ve called several local friends for directions and none of them answer. I’ve asked the mister to call the animal clinic we’re meeting with to ask for directions, but of course he can figure it out himself.

We eventually found a sign pointing to Trenton (on a different highway) and at least end up in the right city. Another 20 minutes of wandering through and around Trenton puts us on yet another highway. . . a highway that leads straight back to Martin.

. . . that we could have taken in the first place.

Of course.

I’ve always considered the mister a practical person, but his true “man-side” came out when I asked him repeatedly to call for directions and he continued to insist that he could figure it out. All the while saying how lost we were and asking why I didn’t bring my GPS.

And of course, when he finally does call, we spot the building just as the receptionist answers. Somehow proving his point that we did not need directions. Even though we found the building completely by accident. And we were ten minutes late.

But thankfully, the veterinarians we were meeting were even later than us, so our panic turned out to be for nothing. But still, why is it such a big deal to ask for directions????

(I must add as a final note that the mister’s first question upon our arrival was, “There’s going to be a blog about this, isn’t there?”)