So today we’re going to play the RV version of NPR’s “Wait, Wait Don’t Tell Me, Bluff the Listener” game. We will give you three stories about our everyday life and you, the reader, will tell us which one is true. To set the stage, keep in mind that we just picked up our first of three back-to-back visitors, having primped and prepped the Big Lebowski in an attempt to treat our guests to an endless whirlwind of adventure and entertainment. Strenuous hikes, orienteering, kayaking, off-road excursions, maybe even a mule ride or two were planned for the next 17 days. Here we go:
A. Our granddaughter, Jacqui, arrived Saturday morning and informed us that she really, really wanted to go to the Renaissance Festival. Really, we said: in the hot, dusty, grimy desert with hoards of other sweaty tourists? YES! So we packed up on Sunday and headed out early to arrive one full hour before it opened in order to avoid sitting in traffic for an hour. After milling about in the crowd for 6 hours or so in the hot sun, Greg decided a few beers would be necessary to get him through the rest of the dusty day. Luckily, the beer stand was situated right next to the belly dancing stage. So after a few pints of ale, Greg was easily persuaded up on stage with the other targets tourists, to demonstrate just how easy it is for old white guys clad in sandals and black knee socks to learn how to belly dance. Unfortunately, when Bathsheba directed “pump to the right”, the geezer next to Greg, pumped to the left, his belt-loaded iPad knock-off collided with Greg’s hip. Greg went down hard and plink!, broke his 5th metatarsal. Some dudes on stilts loaded Greg up in the back of a camel cart and hauled him out to our car.
B. Our granddaughter, Jacqui, arrived Saturday morning and informed us that she was game for any activities except those involving reptiles, snakes, or slime of any sort. By 2 pm the same afternoon, Greg, lounging in his lawn chair, was prompted to look up when he heard the distinct sound of gravel being shaken in a tin can….or a rattlesnake. There at the edge of our campsite stood Jacqui, whiter than a spring tourist from Minnesota, staring at a gigantic rattlesnake not 2 feet in front of her. Greg, in an attempt to defend his eldest granddaughter from certain peril, grabbed his walking stick and vaulted the picnic table to reach her side. Well, almost. He didn’t quite clear the table and landed nose-to-nose with the snake. Luckily, the snake blinked first and slithered off toward the hapless tenters next door. Unluckily for Greg, his foot clipped the iron picnic table, breaking his 5th metatarsal.
C. Our granddaughter, Jacqui, arrived Saturday morning and by Saturday afternoon the Arizona outdoors was proven totally unsafe when a rattlesnake was discovered sunning in our campsite. Despite being successfully wrangled, relocated, and entered into the Witness Protection Program, the snake’s presence prompted Jacqui to declare “Game On!” for cards – indoors — thank you very much. By Sunday afternoon, Greg informed me that he was through with wild gin rummy games for the rest of his life (guess who was losing) and headed outside for some “peace and quiet”. Which, strangely enough, goes well with cold beer. Descending the stairs with righteousness, he hit the edge of the 1” platform that contains our rug, turning both platform and foot on their sides and landing in a heap at the bottom of the steps. Good God, where’s that First Alert necklace when you need one? Jacqui heard a bit of commotion followed by moaning but continued to play QuizUp on her phone. Gail continued to look out the window, asking “now where’d he go now, I told him to start the grill”. Greg was back on his feet, well, one foot, hopping up and down, swearing incoherently. But not as bad as when the doctor told him the next day that he had broken his 5th metatarsal on his driving foot. We are now Googling “geocaching on crutches” and other fun ideas for our next two guests.