In honor of Mother's Day, The Dad planned a poker game for his friends - a BroDate if you will. And I will. Regardless of how exasperated the term makes The Dad.
The Dad justified doing his BroDate on Mother's Day weekend by saying that it would give me quality time with The Daughters, who were after all, the reason I am a momma, doncha know?? So, I consented to take The Daughters out of the house after he slipped me $50 and didn't ask for change or a receipt.
Since it was a lovely weekend and we were banned from our house, we decided to do something outside. And the go-kart place was having a special: Three rides for $10. That would leave $40 for me to ditch The Daughters and go get a pedicure!
As quick as Jeff Gordon making a left turn, we were informed that Daughter 2 was too short to drive by herself, so she'd have to ride with me. Daughter 1, however, was tall enough, willing and ready. We were then directed to advance to the pits. That's racing talk for walk to the go-karts.
Daughter 2, quick as Dale Earnhart, the Daddy - God Rest His Soul, was in and buckled and making, "Rnnnnnn! Rrrrnnnnnn!" sounds. Daughter 1 carefully picked out her car based on how loud the engine was. I, not in any way, shape or form of grace, dropped my fat momma butt into the seat, which was approximately 2 inches off the ground, causing my right foot to jam into the gas and lurch our go-kart forward.
Daughter 2 yelled, "Yee-HAW!"
Daughter 1 cried, "No fair!"
And the go-kart guy, said in all seriousness, as was half hanging out of the cart, "If you don't take this seriously, I'll have to ask you to leave." I muttered that I took whiplash very seriously and buckled myself in.
We were given the green light without so much as a "Ladies, start your engines!" and we were off!
Since Daughter 2 couldn't work the pedals, I told her she could drive. This was my first mistake out of the pits as we crashed right into the crash rail. Apparently, the steering wheel on the kid-side of a two-seater is for show only. Eventually, I got us unstuck and pulled out onto the track. Daughter 2 was very helpful, yelling, "Get a move on, lady!" as I maneuvered us to the lead spot.
I had the pedal to the metal and the wind was whippin' through our hair. I had my una-bomber sunglasses on. We were wide open and lovin' it! As we rounded the second curve, the go-kart skidded a little to the side and Daughter 2 screamed, "DO IT AGAIN!"
I glanced back at Daughter 1 and she was puttering to the first turn, hollering out, "Wait up, guys!" with her little left foot riding the brake out of fear.
Like a good momma, I said, "Should we wait for Daughter 1?"
Daughter 2 screamed, "NO!"
I screamed, "Doncha mean HECK NO??!?!" Then I had a brief, fleeting notion to bump her rear, but I thought better of it. They'd kick my fast self right off the track if that happened and I was having too much fun. Plus, I was winning - and, really, that's what it's all about!
As we passed Daughter 1, who was mumbling about the lack of safety devices on the go-kart, Daughter 2 yelled out, "Get to church already, Grandma!" I laughed heartedly because I was the one who told her to yell that! Daughter 1, ever the rule-follower, screamed back, "Don't talk to me while I'm driving!"
We scooted ourselves right on around the track again and found ourselves on lap 3, Daughter 1's second lap. I pulled up right beside her and offered her a tow. Daughter 1 screamed back, "Get away from me, Satan!" or something like that. I couldn't hear her because we were already 25 yards in front of the slow poke.
Just as we lapped her for the third time, the red light when on. When Daughter 2 saw the red light, she screamed, "RUN IT! Like you always do!" Now, I would like to say that I have never run a red light. The light is always yellow when I start accelerating, so technically, I'm running a very fast yellow light. So, while I would like to say that, it'd probably be a lie that could be contested in a court of law. Not that it's ever gotten that far! But, if I had run the red light, I would have also run over our pit boss who was standing right in my lane waving his hand directing me to go to the right.
We pulled in hot with Daughter 2's hands in the air and one long, "WOOOOOOOOOOO!" coming from her mouth!
Eventually, Daughter 1 puttered in right behind us and then we were all free to unbuckle and leave the track. I cautioned Daughter 2 to NOT be a bad sport and make Daughter 1 feel bad for being so slow. But, I'm pretty sure that she held a little hand-made "L" on her forehead as she walked by Daughter 1. I couldn't be sure of that, though, because my butt had rearranged all the fat while it had been riding two inches off the ground pressed up to a vibrating motor. My legs were pretty much asleep and what little thigh muscles I did have had given up about a lap and a half ago! I attempted to get myself up off the floor of the go-kart, but my body was having nothing to do with that effort!
As Daughter 1 walked by, feeling all kinds of defeated - at being too nervous to go faster, at being lapped by her momma, at being called a "grandma" by her SISTER of all people - I asked her to give me a hand getting up. She stopped and extended her hand but smoothly yanked it away just as our fingertips met. "Get your own hand, GRANDMA!" She sneered and walked on.
I offered the pit boss a 10-spot if he'd help me up. I'll skip the hot wax at my Mother's Day pedicure. It ain't easy being fast, I tell ya!
Happy Mother's Day, y'all!
