How Christine went to Nashville bypassing a tornado

Christine is traveling. Tonight is Nashville. Last night was Cincinnati, Thursday night is somewhere in Alabama, Friday night is Destin, Florida. She's lost her hair gel and face cleanser, but found her bath gel and shampoo. 

Her hair looks great today in spite of severe weather that included blinding rain and a tornado that fortunately was visible but a few miles away. 

In a new rented white Buick, (leather seats but a floppy accelorater) her husband forged through the rain, barely able to see 5 ft in front of him, trucks flying past flinging water wildly against the windshield while lightning flashed close and far. "I'm not chasing the tornado," he said. Christine wiped her forward, the humidity was intense even with the windows closed and air control in full tilt.

"Do you want me to drive?" she asked. 

"There's nowhere to pull over," he said.

"Watch the outer white line and drive as slowly as you want," she said. Not another word between them for miles. The gas tank was below 1/4 tank. No gas stations in view. 

The car smelled of apples, perspiration, and locker room dirty socks.  

"The grits at the Omelet house were delicious," Christine finally said. "My sandwich was okay," her husband said. " That man who said if we didn't like Kentucky weather, just give it half an hour and it would change, means about 10 more minutes of this." Christine watched the clock. He watched the road.

Hale hit the windshield like frozen grapes.

Then it stopped. The sky opened up, blue with high white clouds moving into bunny shapes and eagles and even a nose, eyes and fluffy curl of hair twirled over some man's forehead in the sky like a man on the moon in mid-day controlling the outcome of that supposed disaster. "Want to stop at Abe's Homestead? " Christine's husband asked. "It's just up ahead."

Christine pondered the thought. "Elizabehttown would have been more fun," she said. "That's where that movie with Kirten Dunst was made. We could have eaten at a local restaurant and had our picture taken. 

Her husband stuck his hand out the window. Wind blasted inside the car. "It's warm out there, not like Los Angeles at all." He pulled down the viser and fixed his hair. Christine fluffed her own hair, no frizz, thank goodness. "Nashville isn't that far. I need to find a beauty supply. I left my hair gel and bath oil behind." 

"I think we're lost" her husband said. "Somehow we're off the Interstate. Christine looked at the gas gage. Then looked at him. His face smooth, his eyes said. "It can't be far."

"We not off the Interstate," Christine said. "Look, there's a dog park with people walking their dogs. It's a rest stop. We're at less than a quarter of a tank."

"Want to change drivers," he asked. "My turn to look around."

He fell asleep before she got to the next exit. Pulling off at a Waffle House, Christine patted his head and whispered. "I'm going in for grits. I'll be right back. " 

"I want a fresh baked pretzel with tons of salt," he said. "Grits are for girls."

 And that's the truth. To some extent.