Mother’s Little Helper 2007
I was trying to leave for work. Guille thought he should be able to watch TV. We disagreed. It turned for the worse. I thought he should put on some shoes and socks since it’s 34 degrees outside. He thought he should watch more TV. Specifically, he’d caught a glimpse of Barney before I could turn off the set, and as far as he was concerned anything else would be an unacceptable alternative. Soon, he was emitting those awful screeching noises and rolling around the floor like a drunken sailor.
On the way out of the office we have to cross a popular walking and cycling path. As I was driving to the intersection, I noticed an umbrella stroller and a woman with a baby sitting on the path. She was trying to hold the crying baby and make a phone call. Something wasn’t right about the situation. She had the universal look of distress and frustration. I’ve been there, I was there this morning, remember? I stopped at the road, started to go, and then stopped again. Something told me to help her. I got out of the car and asked if she needed help.
Now, just a couple days ago Other Half and I were talking about hitchhikers and people in trouble on the side of the road. I would never pick up a male hitchhiker, especially with El Guille in the backseat. I also just watched a really scary episode of Six Feet Under where one of the protagonists stops to help a guy who ran out of gas on the highway. The guy turns out to be a crack head who takes our protagonist on a pistol-whipped crime spree across L.A. Other Half and I agreed that it would be stupid and careless for me to ever pick up anyone on the side of the road. However, I took another look at her and knew that I had to help. All of this was going through my head as I got out of the car.
As soon as I asked she responded that she and the baby had gone out for a walk but the temperature had plummeted and the baby was crying from the cold and the wind. She asked if I could just take her to her car about a mile down the road. She had been trying to call her husband but he wasn’t answering. “Sure, hop in!” I said. I took them to her car and didn’t get pistol-whipped once.
Now that I’ve helped a woman in distress, dealt with a raging three year old, and figured out my dryer is broken (oh, didn’t mention that? Yeah, it doesn’t have any heat, it’s just tumbling the clothes around) I’m going to spend the rest of the day trying not to aggravate my sciatic. You know, because I’m eighty. Someone hand me my iPod so I can listen to the Andrews Sisters.
***Update: The Weepies song is avail for downloading for a few days, so if you'd like a copy, click on the link