2. Planes, Trains & Automobiles

That weekend, my husband & I drove up with the kids to see my dad in Vermont. Before leaving, I’d packed a suitcase for the Detroit trip, including some supplies for a cute sign to bring to the set. (The Internet consensus seemed to be that having a sign might improve one’s chances of success.) I left said suitcase at home in Connecticut, thinking I’d have time to grab it on my way down to New York.

The following Monday, en route to Connecticut, an hour and half south of my parents’ house — in Petersburg, New York — our car died.

My husband was driving when it happened; he managed to ease it off onto the shoulder, with some difficulty, as the power steering had gone. The tachometer was at zero. The car was totally just — DEAD.

My husband, a Car Guy (from Detroit!),  got out and looked under the hood, wiggled some things around, then came back & tried to start the car.

Nothing.

We sat there for a moment in total silence.

“This…. is bad,” he said.



And I knew he was right — I did! — but I was crestfallen at missing MY CHANCE —  now that I’d committed to this Fool’s Errand, I really just wanted to do it so badly. A very-immature part of me wanted to leave the car by the side of the road and hitchhike down to LaGuardia Airport as a family.

My husband’s saner head prevailed. I called Enterprise Rent-a-Car, who (God bless them!!) sent someone over to pick us up — me and the kids and the booster seats and our bags — then drove us to their office in Bennington, Vermont, which by some amazing coincidence was right around the corner from the car dealership my husband was having the car towed to. We were a bedraggled bunch — my younger daughter (age 5) had one eye swollen shut thanks to a yellowjacket sting at my dad’s, and my 7-year-old was several days into a week-long hair-brushing strike. 

She got us into a lovely Honda Accord, lickety-split.

Over at the car dealership, my husband arrived in the tow-truck with the car. I got the kids situated in the waiting room and called SPIRIT Airlines, only to find that there were no further flights to Detroit that day, and moreover, all NYC-Detroit flights were fully booked for three days. Changing the flight was hopeless. My husband thought perhaps the car would be an easy fix, but my skepticism and inner drama bubbled over into a needy, whining froth: “Can we pleeeeeaaaaaase just go to the airport?” I begged. My husband, bless his heart forever, relented, and we piled into the rental car.

We booked it down the Taconic Parkway. There was simply no time to swing by our house to pick up my suitcase with everything in it. I had the clothes on my back plus a couple random items I stashed in my purse. In other words, I was WHOLLY UNPREPARED… going to meet Mr. Richard Armitage exactly as I was!



I was wearing a good bra, providentially.

Continue on to Part 3.