“Fifteen hundred miles is a long way to drive.  Are you sure you want to drive and not fly?” he said.

            “If we take our time, don’t speed, and we don’t murder each other along the way, I think it might be fun,” she replied.

            “OK, but remember, you’re the one who initiated this fool idea.  It’ll be three days up and three days back.  You’re sure you want to spend nearly a week, just traveling?”

            “We can enjoy the scenery and we’ll arrive fresh as daisies.  Remember the hectic wear and tear of the flight to Omaha?  It was nothing but hurry, hurry, rush, rush, or we’ll miss the plane.  I hated it.  We were barely speaking to each other by the time we got home?”

            “I remember only too well.  OK, OK, we’ll drive.  But remember, it was your idea.  Don’t blame me if things don’t go well.  Ontario, here we come.” 

            Finally it’s leavin’ day.  We’re actually leavin’.  Five AM. 

            “Myra, for goodness sake, what are you doing now?  What’s the hold up?  Let’s go.  Get a move on girl.”

            Weather channel says it’s “good to go” all the way to Canada.  .  We’re finally moving.  

                                    *                                  *                                  *

            Jackson, Mississippi. Stop for lunch, a pit stop, and a quick gas and go.

            “Arthur, why don’t I get some vendor machine sandwiches and cokes so we can keep going?  We can eat in the car.”

            “OK, OK, Myra, but you know how much I hate to eat while I’m driving,”

            “Come on, do it.  We can make some time.  I’ll be right back.”

            “Oh all right.  Get the food.”  I acquiesce, just to keep the peace. 

            Myra goes into the Mini Mart for some of that damnably dry, tasteless, machine made fare as I gas up.  I’m behind the wheel checking the map when I hear the door slam.  That was quick.  Guess she only needed one trip.  She’s probably already tucked into her nest in the “far back” rear section.  She’ll eat and be asleep in a New York minute.   I’m a bit put out about the food and drink in the vehicle.  I hate driving and eating.

            Exasperated, I yell back to her, “I’m not hungry now, Myra, so hold my food back there for a bit.”

            No answer.  She’s probably asleep by now.  I always spill something in my lap, eating while I drive.  Alone in the front seat, I begin to wonder.  It’s pretty quiet back there.  She’s already asleep, no doubt.  Just as well.  Silence between the two of us will keep the peace.  I’m working on a silent burn about this eating and driving, anyway.  OK, I can play her quiet petulance game, too.  Fine to me. 

            Cape Girardeau next exit.  Is that a Missouri state trooper right behind me?  Damn, he’s “scoping” me out.  Checking my Alabama plates.  Oh, double damn, now his blue bubble light is on.  Here he comes.  Boy, this is classic. Right outa’ the movies.  Smokey Bear hat.  Opaque, mirrored sunglasses and black leather puttees.  Tall, grim and intimidating.  He saunters up to my window, turns and says,  “You from Alabama?”

            “What’s the trouble, officer?”  .  Is there a problem?  Was I speeding?  What?”

            I’m ticked.  He knows I’m from Alabama.  Better not get smart with him.  Don’t want to spend a night in the pokey.

            “No, you weren’t speeding but I believe you’re in big trouble.”

            Now I’m aggravated, and he can tell it.

            “Just what the devil do you mean you believe I’m in big trouble, officer?  I’m a law-abiding citizen and I’ve done nothing wrong, so why the hell did you stop me?

I was starting to get hot.  

            “You forgot something mister.”

            “Forgot something did I?  What?  Did I leave the stove on?  Did Myra leave the iron on?.”

            I was beginning to really get agitated.  These almighty troopers were a pain in the neck.  Who did they think they were, anyway?

            “Come on, tell me.  What did I forget.  The dog?  Speak up and make it snappy.  I’m in a hurry.”

            “You’re not even close, Mister.  Did you stop at the Mini Mart in Jackson?”

            “Yeah.  Got a gas and go.  Myra got some food and we scooted, “lickety split” outa there and I was making good time, that is, up to now that you’ve stopped me.” 

            “Well, it seems, in your “lickety split” leavin’, back in Jackson, you left your wife at the Mini Mart.”

            “Oh, I did?  Oh my” 

            “Have a nice day, sir”