text: Gooseberry Lane: Monday Morning Drive
  My husband and my daughter reminded me that I should share this story.
  As usual, at ~5:30 AM on Monday morning, I drove my husband to work so that I could have the car for the day (yes, we are down to one car again, but that is fodder for another blog entry). Being the bundle of energy that I am at dawn, I brushed my teeth, "visited the ladies room," and combed my hair before leaving the house. Notice I didn't say changed out of my sweatpants (which, by the way, are at least one size too big), put on makeup, or took a shower. Nope. Who was going to see me anyway? The other zombies who were traveling to the base? Hardly. I would be sitting in my car. Not to worry. Plus, I needed to get to the base, drive back home, run through the shower, and eat breakfast, all before the Tour de France coverage started at 7:30 AM. A quick trip was paramount.
  Well, I should have known better than to think thoughts relating to speed, efficiency, or timeliness. To do so is tantamount to marshalling the forces of evil in full array against your goal. The first setback occurred when my darling spouse realized he had forgotten his badge holder that contained all his identifying information and licenses. He couldn't get on the base, or anywhere else he needed to work, without that item, so back home we went. Twenty minutes roundtrip.
  On a second approach to the base, my car was chosen for a "vehicle inspection." For those of you who do not frequent a military installation, that is code for "drug check" or "terrorist check." I haven't been the proud and ecstatic winner of the vehicle inspection lottery since I was twenty-six years old and living in San Diego. Without divulging details for the sake of security, suffice it to say that having my car inspected meant I had to exit my Mazda and stand in full view of everyone entering the base while this assessment activity was occurring. So much for the who-would-see-me-anyway theory.
  I suppose two vehicle inspections in 19 years isn't a big deal, but they were both most inconveniently timed. Tell me, those of you out there in cyberspace who work for the military police, are you trained to recognize citizens who are in a hurry? Or those of us who are not yet "gussied up" for the day? Was I wearing a large pulsing clock atop my unwashed head of hair? In the words of Ray Barone, "Tell me, so I will know."