Thank you, Rodrigo
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Thank you, Rodrigo

Man plans and God laughs. This is a very commonly used phrase. When you are younger, you don’t really understand what it means. After all, your parents are the ones who plan your life for you. You wake up, brush your teeth, brush your hair, get dressed in clothing that was put out for you the night before, have breakfast, take your school bag, go to the bus, go to school, go to class, go to the bus, come home, have a snack, do your homework, have dinner, brush your teeth, and go to bed. Rinse and repeat. Life was simple then. Of course, we probably didn’t think it was simple because we had homework and issues with friends (maybe that was just me) and etcetera etcetera etcetera.

Man plans and God laughs. There are many, many unfortunate examples of this phrase, but for the purpose of a humor column, we are going to keep them light. Like when Husband #1 and I went out for a date night when the monkeys were little. We got a babysitter and were all excited for a movie and dinner. We sat through the movie, walked out of the theater, and someone noticed that Husband #1 had a huge, tighty-whitey-revealing rip in the back of his pants because what he thought was an uncomfortable seat was actually a metal spring that ripped his pants. So much for dinner. Good news was the movie theater paid for a new pair of pants.

Or spending weeks planning a baseball trip and then driving into a hurricane. Or anything that involved the year 2020. You get my point.

This brings us to last Thursday night. The “plan” was that since we had a wedding on the Island of Long, we would stop off to see the little Strudel before heading to celebrate with our dear friends. Son #3 hadn’t met his niece yet, so we thought it was a good plan. Jeeves (aka Waze) informed us that it was going to take two hours, but it still fit into the schedule. We actually left the house on time. Driving along, chatting as we do, all of a sudden there is loud bang and what felt like a small explosion, and then the car started warning us about tire pressure, and then an orange picture of a flat tire came on, with lights and sirens and a whole flashing situation. Husband #1 and Son #3 remained calm as we got off the Cross Bronx in search of a solution to the tire problem (and there was no shoulder to be found). Jeeves (still aka Waze) let us know where the nearest gas station was, but it was 10 minutes away, and we had no idea how bad the tire actually was. We saw a car wash. Should we stop there? And then, like mana from heaven, there was a bright yellow sign about a block in front of us. “What did the sign say?” you ask. It said, “Flat Fix.” Yes, I am serious. No, I am not kidding. There is a store in Lordknowswhere in the Bronx that is called Flat Fix. And for $40 — yes, I am serious, no, I am not kidding — Rodrigo exchanged our flat tire for a sort-of-not-really new one. And 20 minutes later, we were back on the road. Unfortunately, we were not able to see the little Strudel, but we did make it to the wedding before Husband #1 passed out from thirst and hunger.

Man plans and God laughs. Beautiful wedding. Had a wonderful time with friends from college (yes, surprisingly, I still have one or two of those) and it is time to go home. Jeeves (is it annoying that I am telling you again that Jeeves is my Waze voice?) tells us to take the lower level of the George Washington Bridge. It is going to take only 47 minutes to get home. Well, the lower level was closed, and it took an hour and 47 minutes to get home. But at least it only took 20 minutes to get a new tire.

Man plans and God laughs. May all of your plans be good ones and come to fruition.

Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck is convinced you can develop PTSD from getting stuck in hours of traffic.

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