I've been laughing at folks who tell me being without electricity for five days last week effectively put us back in the 1700s.
I laughed because my husband's generative powers -- with his Ranger 2000 and a few dozen gallons of gasoline -- it felt more like we'd effectively revisited the somewhat affluent '50s: Our refrigerator is running, but there wasn't much else in the way of amenities.
We washed dishes by hand;
We watched television; but not cable;
We were able to cook on a hot-plate;
And, as a result of limited light, we turned in early.
Yet, it's not nostalgic or idyllic or even "romantical," as our firstborn would say.
The laundry is piling up but will have to wait until the power returns or we can schlep ourselves to the Laundromat, which mightn't be soon since I've had a sore throat for two days and The Champ got some vomity illness that is inconsistently realized (usually in the middle of the night when the generator has quit or run out of gas) as I'm fumbling around in the dark.
And this, for all intents and purposes, means I risk having to wear my prom dress to work (If I could muster the will to drag my sorry-for-my-Self out of bed again) because the aforementioned lack of clean clothes, combined with the growing pile of vomity duds are divided by no way to launder them (until the power comes back online or The Champ musters enough vim to make it through a trip to the local Sit and Spin).
But that's not the worst of it.
When I was able to get a few minutes away to run a cart up and down the aisles at the grocery store with Ittybit, I somehow managed to lose the car key between the shopping and the buying and the pushing of a full cart out to the parking lot.
Which means I had to get the husband to pack the vomity kid into the car and drive me the spare set.
Yep. He did.
After we got home, put away the groceries, I promptly found the keys in my sweatshirt pocket.
Yep. Found 'em. ...
Right where I'd jammed my panicking fists about a half-dozen times.
Still, I was hanging on to the corners of my smile. "One more day," I told myself. "We'll get the electricity back and the bad luck will turn on its heel and march back where it came from."
Should have known better.
Enter regularly scheduled doctors' appointment, wherein I learn that my insurance isn't of the variety they accept any more.
Turns out I had to pay the full boat right there and then and submit the claim myself. Even the lady in the checkout area looked shocked for me when she whispered the total: $180.
So much for health insurance.
I almost laughed when I got to work and learned our struggling company will - as of January - stop contributing to our 401Ks (that are only two years old) in order to get itself in better fiscal standing. Almost. Laughed.
So much for retirement.
There's more, but I won't bother you with it. It'll just make me wish I were home with my vomity boy and my silly husband and my ice princess daughter.
I'll just try and count the one blessing this week had in store for me: I filled the gas tank up from empty (for the first time in I can't remember how long) for under $20.
Let's just say, with the luck I've been having, I'm not going to be taking any long trips ... not even with an $18-fill-up.