“Nobody can tell what I suffer! But it is always so.

Those who do not complain are never pitied.”

Jane Austen, Price and Prejudice

Woe is me. WOE. IS. ME.

This was the caption over my head last Monday night, as I sat with my head in my hands, my knees close together and pulled up near my chest as if the fetal position was a mere moment away. Sitting on the couch, in the closed RV, roadside, off I-275, waiting for the tow truck, I thought:

How could this be? I had the week all planned out. And this most certainly was not in the plan!

The plan was for a stress-free week, where Bill drove the RV without me, while ZuZu and I had our own road trip in the Jeep and spent some time with  family. Then, once Bill had set up camp (again, without me), I would stroll right on in to our fully hooked-up, slides out, air conditioned, all-ready-and-I-didn’t-have-to-do-a-thing motorhome. Doesn’t that sound delightful!

I waited for his call. That call that says: Come join me, Wife, Love of My Life. I have everything set up, and I’ve missed you so.  But no call came. I waited. And waited. But nothing. Hours after he should have been at the RV park and all set up, there was still no word from him. And for the record, Bill is not the uncommunicative type. He is extremely communicative. At times, perhaps, overly-communicative. But not a call. Not a text. And I started to worry.

I put off calling him till I could stand it no longer, and my gut feeling that something was wrong was unfortunately right. He answered his phone and with a tired, weary voice said that the motor coach was broken down and he had been sitting on the side of the road for hours, making phone calls trying to rectify the situation.

Of course, as these things go, our roadside assistance plan had expired the month before. The. Month. Before. Yeah, I meant to renew that before this trip, he said weakly.

I won’t bore you with all the details, but suffice it to say, my man went down with the ship. So to speak. He would not leave the coach when the tow truck came to take it in for service. In fact, he would not leave it for the next 4 days while it was being serviced. Rather, he lived in the parking lot with other downed trucks. The black and gray tanks near full and the fresh water tank near empty…of course. But he did it anyway. All the while, ZuZu and I were living the life of Riley at my brother’s home. And yet still, somehow, I feel sorry for myself in all of this. Don’t get me wrong: I feel sorrier for Bill. But sorry, put out, cursed nonetheless.

And since misery loves company, I’d love to hear your broken down roadside stories! Please share!!