I'm Not Quite Dead Yet

For anyone out there who needs some humor therapy today--you're welcome.  Please read on.

Now that R has a new job that doesn't come with a 45 minute commute, we have the unique opportunity to ready ourselves for work and leave the house at the same time.  This has been an interesting experience, as I had forgotten how long R takes in the shower and how much mirror space he hogs.  I love having him home with me, but do not love applying eyeliner in a sauna-like bathroom with a fogged-up mirror and R's old boxers thrown lovingly across my sink. 

This morning entailed the usual--get up, wrangle myself into scrubs, halfhearted attempt at hair and makeup, dance around the cats as I try to prepare breakfast, finally succumb to the cries of our kitty with a weight problem and give her yet another scoop of cat food, dig for not-so-buried treasure in said kitty's litter box, dodge the other cat on way to dump kitty poo in the trash can outside, herd two perky Jack Russell terriers outside into the floating remains of our soggy backyard, and finally, hunt for keys for a good 10 minutes before realizing they are in my pocket. 

R gives me a quick kiss goodbye and heads out.  I'm about 3 minutes behind him, and am backing out of the driveway when I notice a very old, very familiar Honda Civic speeding towards me.  R, whom many have mistaken for the 89-year-old Buick-wielding Grandma on the interstate, is the most cautious driver I know, and my concern mounts as he frantically motions for me to roll down my window.

Per his usual, R's message is succinct yet unexpected: "I just saw two dead guys. Follow me!"

And off he goes, chief investigator for CSI: Ringgold as he flies through our neighborhood and covertly pulls in behind a white pickup truck at the entrance to our subdivision.  I pull up beside him and he stage-whispers to me: "Look in the truck!  They're both dead as they can be!"  He then dramatically pulls out of our road to head to the interstate, leaving me to check out the scene of the crime.

The death scene is, of course, eerie to say the least.  The dawn has just broken over the horizon, and the morning's first rays of light are timidly peeking through the trees, casting shadows down on the abandoned white truck.  I peer into the driver's window and see two men, both dressed for construction work in jeans and T-shirts.  Sure enough, the driver is not moving, head slumped against chest and cell phone pressed against his left ear with a pale hand.  I wonder who was on the other line, if they have any clue of what has just happened, if they have already called for help. His passenger looks no better, eyes closed and head resting similarly against his chest.  They don't appear to be injured and there is no broken glass or sign of damage to the truck.  Could they have both had heart attacks simultaneously?  Have they taken an overdose of something? Was Sonic's breakfast burrito too much to handle?  I pull out my cell phone and begin dialing 911.

As I press the send button I survey their faces.  They look stereotypically peaceful, as though at perfect rest.  In fact, if I didn't know the grisly truth, I'd almost say they were slee---

HOLY MOTHER!! THE DEAD ONE IN THE PASSENGER SEAT JUST SAT UP!! HE JUST SMILED AT ME, FOR PETE'S SAKE!! WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON?!?!?

It's at this point they both appear to have been awakened from their naps.  Perhaps it had something to do with the chick in bright pink scrubs peering into their truck for evidence of fatal flesh wounds while they slept. 

"911, what is your emergency?"

I am, for the first time in 26 years, at a loss for words.  What am I supposed to say?  "Well, my husband found these two dead guys but its all good now since they just woke up"?  Right.  My weekend plans do not include a trip to Moccasin Bend or federal prison, so I decide to do the mature thing and hang up. 

The men are now taking sips from their respective cups of coffee and starting the truck's engine.  Here's a note, sirs:  You're going to need more help than pedestrian caffeine can offer IF PEOPLE ARE MISTAKING YOU FOR DEAD.  Here's hoping they got the Red Bull or espresso shots they needed to make it happen.

Oh, and thanks for leaving me at the scene of the crime to deal with two dead men by myself, babe.  I know I'm an awesome nurse, but even I am not that good. 

Here's to a death-free Friday!