Driven crazy

Editor's Note: Commedienne Pam Stone writes her column for The Tryon Daily Bulletin twice each month from her office in the "Unabomber Shack" on her Gowensville farm. Want a chance to respond to this column? Go to Pam’s blog at www.tryondailybulletin.com.

I have a slight beef regarding driving as late. May I vent? Thank you.

First of all, I don't really enjoy driving our dually truck. As an environmentally-minded gal, I hate it (although, being diesel, it manages to free-base about 22 mpg) but it is a necessity when you have horses and a nursery. It is purely a work vehicle and I'd much rather drive the Honda except that trying to load hay and feed into the back of it can only be compared to trying to squeeze Tommy Lasorda into a speedo. Sure, you might be able to do it, but it's way too hot for that kind of work.

If there's one thing I can't understand, it's this: if you don't have livestock or you're not an electrician, why on earth are you driving a Ford Behemoth, anyway? I have a friend who swears she feels safer. Given the rate of deaths by roll-overs, this doesn't make much sense to me. What I suppose Ford or Chevy could honestly advertise is that they can at least guarantee you an open-casket funeral. You'll be dead but your hair will look great.

The most obnoxious part about driving our truck is trying to park, er, dock. As I circle the Bi-Lo on a Saturday afternoon, I literally have to pass on at least three or four spaces that I can't squeeze into. Sometimes I have to park at a distance, another area code, if I want to finish shopping by midnight. So imagine my delight after wheeling this whale around the parking lot when I see the perfect spot, the perfect spot, and it's right next to the store. Delighted by this berth, I maneuver the dually into the space only to see the sign: "Reserved for new parents" What?! Are you kidding me?

Now listen, obviously I support the Handicapped Signs. But a new parent can also be a huge, hulking, father who can carry his six offspring on one arm and clearly doesn't need to be this close to the store! I mean, let's be fair then: what about a sign for me? How about "Reserved for exhausted horse trainer who is now going to be subjected to your screaming kids in the store aisles?" Yes, a little wordy, but you get my point. I just unloaded twenty bales of hay, cleaned stalls, worked three horses, taught two lessons, swept the barn aisle, cleaned tack, and I'll trade that weariness any day for unbuckling Missy out of her car seat, thank you very much.

I suppose there are but two solutions. Number one: ditch the truck or, number two, get pregnant. Or maybe put a Clemson cap on the terrier and strap her into a car seat. Hell, that's the way I use the carpool lane…