The importance of 'Hand Signals' when attaching a camper to the tow vehicle.
Contributing factors for disaster -
1. an unfocused hand signaler
2. loose gravel on a slope
3. no see ums.
4. Crocs
I stood there on the slope amidst the loose gravel in the heat of summer with my mind adrift (as usual) bareheaded, barefooted and determined. Slowly my main squeeze (hubby) backed the truck towards the camper. It was hot as Africa and the gulf breeze went north for the summer. Carefully I positioned my hands in the direction hubby needed to back up the truck. He called my name (actually he screamed, but I'm trying to be positive) and told me I was standing on the wrong side. I step over the trailer hitch carefully or so I presumed and land knee first in the loose gravel. I pick myself up, dust myself off and look quick to see if anyone saw my gracefulness.
I stretch out my arms and begin to direct hubby backwards toward the camper. In a split second (which is super-super fast) a horde of a gazillion no-see-ums appear from nowhere and attacked my person. They bite my ears, my lips, my eyelids and crawl beneath my tank top. Wild with pain and frustration I begin to swat at the little buggers.
This is where the importance of the hand signals comes into play. Hubby swerves the vehicle to the right, then the left, then a hard left trying desperately to keep up with my erratic hand signals. The problem is they are not hand signals but me defending my body against the killer attack no-see-ums.
Hubby has not figured that out. He slams on the brake sending shards of loose gravel flying through the air with the greatest of ease. I think he took out a few no-see-ums but most of them were feasting on my B-positive type blood.
I'm starting to panic and I scream a sissy scream not wanting to draw attention to my predicament. Hubby (the one I would very much like to squeeze) starts using unkind words toward my hand directions. He yells, "Stop It'. But I can't! I'm being eaten alive by something that you can't even see.
He pulls forward and begins backing up again. My hands are flying faster than a politicians tongue. I'm dancing the jig, flailing like a wild chicken and still he follows my hand signals. A very sharp turn to the right and a loud crunch. Oops that was a tree. He lurches the truck to the left and hits the water faucet and cracks the pipe and water spurts high in the darkened sky.
Then not too far away I hear the crack of thunder or is that him hitting another tree? And then, a bolt of lightning strikes within inches of my jerking body. He makes another sharp turn with the truck and slams on the brakes again sending up a rainstorm of gravel. I see it coming and desperately try to take a step backwards still trying to ward off the gazillion flesh eating invisible bugs. I love my backless Crocs (http://www.crocs.com/ ) but I'm rethinking their purpose to hand signalers. In slow motion my foot slips silently from my coveted Crocs.
My arms still swatting at the death eaters swing backwards to stop my fall. I hit the gravel with record speed and tumble without the smooth finesse of a ballet dancer down the incline. The water feels cold as Alaska as my body plummets to the muddy bottom and connects with the crabby fiddler crabs. And then, the monsoon rains begin. I sit sinking in the mudflats with raindrops the size of golfballs beating my bruised body still waving my arms at the critters from hell while hubby hooks the camper to the truck.
Contributing factors for disaster -
1. an unfocused hand signaler
2. loose gravel on a slope
3. no see ums.
4. Crocs
I stood there on the slope amidst the loose gravel in the heat of summer with my mind adrift (as usual) bareheaded, barefooted and determined. Slowly my main squeeze (hubby) backed the truck towards the camper. It was hot as Africa and the gulf breeze went north for the summer. Carefully I positioned my hands in the direction hubby needed to back up the truck. He called my name (actually he screamed, but I'm trying to be positive) and told me I was standing on the wrong side. I step over the trailer hitch carefully or so I presumed and land knee first in the loose gravel. I pick myself up, dust myself off and look quick to see if anyone saw my gracefulness.
I stretch out my arms and begin to direct hubby backwards toward the camper. In a split second (which is super-super fast) a horde of a gazillion no-see-ums appear from nowhere and attacked my person. They bite my ears, my lips, my eyelids and crawl beneath my tank top. Wild with pain and frustration I begin to swat at the little buggers.
This is where the importance of the hand signals comes into play. Hubby swerves the vehicle to the right, then the left, then a hard left trying desperately to keep up with my erratic hand signals. The problem is they are not hand signals but me defending my body against the killer attack no-see-ums.
Hubby has not figured that out. He slams on the brake sending shards of loose gravel flying through the air with the greatest of ease. I think he took out a few no-see-ums but most of them were feasting on my B-positive type blood.
I'm starting to panic and I scream a sissy scream not wanting to draw attention to my predicament. Hubby (the one I would very much like to squeeze) starts using unkind words toward my hand directions. He yells, "Stop It'. But I can't! I'm being eaten alive by something that you can't even see.
He pulls forward and begins backing up again. My hands are flying faster than a politicians tongue. I'm dancing the jig, flailing like a wild chicken and still he follows my hand signals. A very sharp turn to the right and a loud crunch. Oops that was a tree. He lurches the truck to the left and hits the water faucet and cracks the pipe and water spurts high in the darkened sky.
Then not too far away I hear the crack of thunder or is that him hitting another tree? And then, a bolt of lightning strikes within inches of my jerking body. He makes another sharp turn with the truck and slams on the brakes again sending up a rainstorm of gravel. I see it coming and desperately try to take a step backwards still trying to ward off the gazillion flesh eating invisible bugs. I love my backless Crocs (http://www.crocs.com/ ) but I'm rethinking their purpose to hand signalers. In slow motion my foot slips silently from my coveted Crocs.
My arms still swatting at the death eaters swing backwards to stop my fall. I hit the gravel with record speed and tumble without the smooth finesse of a ballet dancer down the incline. The water feels cold as Alaska as my body plummets to the muddy bottom and connects with the crabby fiddler crabs. And then, the monsoon rains begin. I sit sinking in the mudflats with raindrops the size of golfballs beating my bruised body still waving my arms at the critters from hell while hubby hooks the camper to the truck.
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