When Friday the 13 strikes back

“Today is Friday the 13!”

“Yeah, I know. It doesn’t bother me, though. I turned 13 on Friday the 13!”

I overheard this conversation while I was waiting for my prescription to be filled at 8:30 a.m. this past Friday. I was at the pharmacy located in the hospital where I work on my day off because I forgot to fill and pick up my medicine. It was the first of many errors in this comedy called The Austin’s Take Friday the 13.

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We finally left the house for our spring break mini-vacay around noon.

Thirty miles into the trip, we’re talking, laughing, enjoying the drive, and an older gentleman swerves ever so slightly into our late, almost forcing us off the road. The guy sped up and got in front of us while I sat in the front seat of our car and stewed. I practiced the face I’d give him as we passed him again. I didn’t want ‘angry’, just ‘disappointed’.

NAILED IT.

Another twenty miles down I75, I watched in horror as another car veered close to our car. Hubby honked his horn as a warning, and the driver overcorrected her wheel, sped off the interstate and barrel rolled several times in a cloud of rubber, metal and dirt.

“Oh, she’s dead. No way she survived that. quick, pull over and let’s call 911.”

While her car was damaged beyond repair, the girl was without a scratch. Now THAT’s a miracle.

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“Oh crap,” Hubby exclaimed, “I forgot the passes. Did you bring your ID?”

Of course I didn’t bring my ID. I never take my ID on weekend trips because I’m afraid I’ll misplace it. I rolled my eyes in exasperation — how many times has he tried to pull this joke on me?

“Whatever.”

“I’m serious. I forgot them. You really don’t have your ID?”

Twenty minutes later, a ticket representative at Disney picks up. I explained the situation and she said, “Gee, tha’ts tough. I don’t know, I think you’ll just have to go to Guest Relations and see what they can do. Sorry! Have a magical day!”

Then Disney asked me to choose the word that best describes my call: magical, informational, exciting or none of the above. Guess what I choose?

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I jumped through a whole bunch of hoops to get my ticket and we had a lovely day. I mean, other than the baby refusing to sleep even when he had basically the most relaxing environment EVAH. We introduced him to the Dole pineapple whip and he was a fan.

We rode lots of rides. We had a deliciously overpriced dinner. Our goal was to stay for the fireworks at 10. After the day we’d had, you’d think we would be smarter.

You’d be wrong.

Miraculously, Baby Blogworthy stayed awake and in a shockingly good mood as we stood along the fence in front of the castle, surrounded by people and interesting and unusual smells. The lights went down and the Main Street Electrical Parade turned the corner. The baby, perched on my husband’s shoulders, made a new friend in a young boy also on his father’s shoulders — OK, so maybe he made friends with the little boy’s light up wand. The little boy wanted to GIVE the wand to our baby, and we were like, UH no, tha’ts yours. We caved and decided to buy one for BB.

Hubby handed the baby to me so he could purchase the lightup wand. As I was snuggling BB, I felt something wet on his pack. No…it couldn’t be….

Poop.

Everywhere.

Down and up and back. Smeared and clumped. On me, on Hubby and on our backpack.

Did I mention the pressing crowd and pitch black-ness?

Well, there was that as well.

As we turned the stroller into a make-shift changing table, using the light from the freshly purchased lightup wand, I said what we were both thinking: “This has been the most hectic Friday the 13 of my entire life. For real.”

The baby settled into the stroller with his fresh diaper and lightup wand and was out cold.

In case you were wondering, he missed the fireworks by five minutes.

This week is the week I’m going to pay attention to my Facebook fan page — I can just feel it! You won’t want to miss this. Click like.