Damn This Traffic Jam

The evening is a total blast. From the people-watching to the people we meet, to the constant laughter. It is over much too soon.

We dawdle the next morning. Linger over brunch. Have an extra cup of coffee. One more piece of toast. We walk up Embassy Row to visit the National Cathedral. Get razzed on Facebook by friends thinking it would be fitting for us to step into confessionals while we are there. We tour the garden and browse in the gift shop. We eventually stroll back toward the hotel at a glacial pace, admiring the embassies as we do. But once we arrive we have have to face the fact that it all must come to an end. Priscilla has a long drive so she leaves as soon as we reach the hotel. Kate and I drag out our visit just a wee bit longer by enjoying lunch before we go. We go to Jose's restaurant and sit in his section. We do not order by phone. The fun is over.

Eventually we get into my car with our bags and our memories and our gigantic Diet Mountain Dews and drive. Or try to.

We are dismayed beyond redemption at the traffic. A jam that slows thousands of cars to a near stop. It takes us an hour to go a mile. It is infuriating. And we are hungover. It is a toxic combination.

We are detoured. And detoured again. The detour signs must have been placed by some drunken, pranking fraternity boys because they send me and 17 cars behind me the wrong way down a one way street! Kate and I are shrieking. I want to turn around to avoid certain disaster but between the cars zooming toward us and the cars bombing up behind us it is a death defying Duke of Hazard feat at best.

We pull over and turn to Google Maps for a reasonable solution that is not doomed to get us both killed. That would suck.  Kate enters my address into the search field and we obediently follow the directions so confidently offered by the grating woman's voice endured by many a Google Maps user.

We are northbound at last but suddenly Betty, as we have come to call her, tells us to exit shortly thereafter. We do as she says (what do we know? She's the maps guru!) and when we get our bearings we realize that we are heading back to DC! Right into the traffic we just left.

Kate starts the search again. More of the same. A few twists and turns and we are right back on the highway with the Washington Monument looming in the windshield.

We pull over in a dicey little slum to figure out how not to be The Griswalds. I look at Google Maps swearing at Betty under my breath.

I begin to retype my address and realize that there are hundreds of addresses that begin with my house number and street name. The first one, the one Kate had selected, is in Georgia. Hence all the u-turning and screaming at us to go south.

I choose the right address and we are on the road once more. Betty seems much more relaxed now.

Another Girls Weekend come and gone. An adventure from door to door. Typical. I can hardly wait for the next one.