The Best Laid Plans Are Still Only Plans

It is my weekend to go to Scott's.  I have to figure out the plan. Ninety miles, though easier and easier to drive, still makes a person do some planning.

I can leave Trinket by herself for a bit.  She's not bothering with her incision and I am sure she'd be just as happy to be left alone to climb the draperies on her own.

But I can't leave Gidget alone for very long. She's a wee little thing that needs to be tended to.  I have to take her with me, which means I will have to drive back home in the opposite direction of Scott's house only to turn around and go back when I've packed and gotten Gidget into her crate. Not convenient, but it's what I've committed to. A temporary change to a pretty happy routine. What's a few more miles on the car?

Scott's daughter is cheering at the high school football game that Friday night. I hate to miss it. I haven't seen her cheer this year at all and she's made the Varsity squad.  And it's a sure thing her mother hasn't placed her fat ass on the bleachers all season. I really do want to see her cheer. But the game is an away game, and by "away" I mean an hour north of Scott's house, making the trip at least 2 and a half hours.  And that is if I take Gidget to the game with me!  I will never make it there to see a single round-off back handspring. Maybe I'll get my chance in two weeks?

I have a decision to make. I'll never get there in time for the game. But I could stay close to home for a bit and arrive at Scott's later in the evening when they'll all be walking in the door after the game. Scott and I could share a drink and bowl of ice cream and pile into bed soon after for a dreamy night's sleep.  Or I could stay at home for the night and zip down the expressway in the early morning, fresh and energized and ready for a full day with the man I love.  I can't decide what is best.

But soon enough the decision is made for me. Pat reminds me that he has his Scout pancake breakfast on Saturday morning. I can't miss that!  I will go at 8 am when the griddle is first fired up and then zoom to Scott's after a full breakfast of coffee, pancakes and sausage. Yummo!

I head out for beers with a girlfriend that Friday. It would be a shame to squander one of the very few local evenings out I can manage without sacrificing what precious little time I have with Scott.  I need to take them where I can get them. I can feed the cats and have my ass in a groove on a bar stool in time for happy hour.

Scott texts me from the game. I text him when I've made it home without a DUI. All in all a good night.

And the pancake breakfast, served by Pat, is that much sweeter with a hangover from the microbrewery beers. There is nothing like sausage and chocolate chip pancakes and really strong coffee when hair o' the dog isn't prudent.

Soon enough, I am on the road with Gidget in tow, and we are bombing down the expressway to Scott's. We have a storm to prepare for and his house is directly in its path.