Dear Vicki

Dear Vicki,

I don't know if you know it, but you're carrying precious cargo in your glove box. My TomTom charger and USB cord. I know. It's hard to believe you've had such precious goods in the recesses of your car for so long, and knew nothing about it.

I know. It's equally hard to believe I never had the chance to ask for it back in the middle of dealing with your son's fake bouts of depression. What? That's over now? That's good. But there's still one thing, Vicki.

I need those cords.

I know you resent me for never wearing enough Charger blue to home games, or making up for it by bringing a hefty plate of baked goods. I know you think I'm stupid when I get nervous when you interrogate me about why I'm not wearing Charger blue and I mumble "Uh, uh but it might rain." I know, Vicki, I know.

But I need those cords.

Can we make a deal? I'm picturing something tense and emotionally charged on top of the dam overlooking the river. The sun will be setting and our cars can roll slowly across the gravel. We'll step out. Our fingertips brushing only for the brief moment when you take the bottle of wine from my left hand and I take the cords from your right.

I know, Vicki, I know. I don't like the idea of me driving all the way through Ohio anymore than you do, trust me. But you know what's worse than the thought of me driving all the way through Ohio? Having to spend even more time in Ohio because without my TomTom I get lost and confused and paralyzed by fear.

What's that, Vicki? I can have my cords back now?

Thanks, Vicki.



P.S. In case you missed it, it's road trip week here on The Unreal Life. Follow along with my snarky sass as I voyage through the midwest this weekend via twitter and instagram.