Friday, May 17, 2013

Don't Bug Me About This

Sam and I are currently making our way to California for a week (technology! I can blog from the car in the middle of nowhere!). 

A little while ago, we passed a place infamous in the lore of our relationship, and I realized that very few people actually know this story, and that's a shame.  So here I am to tell it to you.

Lo, these many years ago, when Sam and I were still in field school together and "just friends," Sam decided to take me on a Sunday evening drive in his Volvo that smelled like crayons to his ancestral home, Scipio.

I've passed through Scipio a million times and considered it no more than a blip on the map, but that apparently is where all the Wasdens and Quarnbergs interbred (or inbred) and created the large-noggined species of Wasden.  So it's important to Sam.  And, admittedly, I didn't really care what we were doing at the time, I just wanted to spend a little time with him because I loved the smell of crayons, so to speak.

We took a detour through Goshen Canyon to finally look at that rock art that was always just down the road from the site we were excavating. After a while, we met back up with the 15 somewhere and drove along south.

It was at this point that Sam decided to show off his classy Cruise Control (I love a man with Cruise Control). But it broke the computer, and therefore the car.  We began to coast on the freeway (not really a safety concern anywhere in Central Utah).  We pulled off at the nearest exit, a place called Mills--aptly named, since the only thing besides cows and scrub as far as the eye can see was a towering mill with a few outbuildings.

So we called Sam's mom (my heart a-pounding a bit since it was essentially like "meeting the parents", right?), then spent some time on the phone with AAA, who promised to send a tow truck in about an hour from Scipio (the only reason I can think it might've taken an hour to get to a place less than 20 minutes away is that everyone in a 400-mile radius had crashed their cars simultaneously).

In the mean time, we decided to walk around and get to know the exit. I quickly became aware of a sudden and irresistible urge to urinate.


Sam felt the same and took care of business while standing on a small bridge in the middle of the field.  I searched around a little nervously-- the freeway was right there, and it was a relatively flat area.  I could imagine the eyes of every mill-worker on me as I considered where to hide myself.  Not to mention this boy who I was still getting to know would undoubtedly be judging me.

The only solution I could perceive was to go down into the creek that the bridge crossed and take care of it there.  So I wandered down and felt very fortunate to be wearing a skirt at the moment.

The fortune I felt very quickly disappeared as I realized that creek+summer+exposed delicate parts=what the heck was I thinking?!

Sam called down to ask if I was ok when I started giving periodic shrieks every time a horse-sized mosquito decided to take a little nibble at my soft underbelly.
I looked completely ridiculous waving my arms around, half-squatting in a creek.  But only the thousands of blood-suckers saw me, and fortunately they don't talk.

I ran like a bat out of Hell back to the Volvo and we laughed and cried about it until the tow truck driver pulled up a minute later with a sprig of hay hanging out of his mouth.

I listened amusedly on the ride back as Sam chatted family history with his fellow Scipian (it didn't take long to find out they were distant cousins) and tried very hard to ignore the building itching.

This turned out to be one of those experiences that only draws you together, but every time we pass Mills or talk about Scipio, I shudder to think of that time when I was raped by mosquitos while everyone at that mill laughed at me (which turned out only to be Sam, but still).

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