"Going to the chapel..." eventually

Who is this Rand McNally guy and what makes my husband feel that he needs to consult with this so-called geographical guru whenever I feel the compulsion to wander more than twenty miles from my house? "What route are you going to take to get to the wedding," Brad asked as we were visiting our daughter, Savannah in Connecticut. Younger daughter, Sydney and I planned to depart the next day for my niece, Haley's wedding in Pennsylvania. I shrugged noncommittally. I should have known better...that's the equivalent of waving a red flag in front of the bull. Out came the Rand McNally. "Your GPS might take you right through NYC," my husband cautioned but you can avoid that by..." Charlie Brown's teacher's voice droned in my ears while I daydreamed about wedding cake. "What time are you leaving," Brad asked, frowning because apparently he'd had to repeat his question several times before getting my attention. "Well, it's suppose to take six hours and the wedding is at 5:30," I mused, calculating on my fingers. "Leaving around 10 am should give us ample time." Brad smiled doubtfully, gently advising an earlier departure in case of "traffic." I fought my eyeroll and condenscendingly thought, "What a worrywart."

As Sydney and I loaded our suitcases in the car (at 10:15 am), Brad called out from his 3rd story window, "Here comes Little Buddy." Savannah's apartment complex was home to a friendly black cat with a collar emblazoned with his name. We waited as he trotted across the parking lot to see us off on our journey, even pausing (ha ha) for a selfie.  Sydney and I would later recognize that this would be a prophetic moment for all that came later.

Initially, it seemed like luck was in our favor. We made a brief stop at a Dunkin Donuts and when our order had mistakenly been overlooked, Sydney was rewarded with a Coolata upgrade...handed a cup that required two hands to lift. This too, would later play a somewhat pivotal role in our adventure.

We cheerfully endured the first two traffic jams, keeping a casual eye on our GPS's estimated arrival time of 3:20 pm. Plenty of time to get there, find a hotel, get changed and breeze in at 5:15 ("Are you sure you don't want to make a hotel reservation," Brad  had asked fifty times.).  During the third traffic jam, we began to notice that the arrival time on our GPS began to adjust alarmingly.  "Did that sign say 'The Bronx",  Sydney asked in one of the rare moments when our car was actually allowed to move. I finally had to face reality that yes, I was in New York City after having spent more than an hour on the George Washington Bridge.  Sydney and I were finishing up our tribute to Kenny Chesney:

"Man, I don't know, where the time goes
but it sure goes fast, just like that.
We were wannabe rebels who didn't have a clue..."       RING!  RING!

Brad had been kindly calling intermittently throughout the trip to lend support. He, of course, choose this moment to call while I idled in neutral in the middle of the bridge. I picked a black cat hair off my blouse and listened while Sydney assured him that we had things well in hand, wiggling in her seat as the view of the Hudson and the effects of the upgraded Coolatta began to take effect.

GPS arrival time:  4:42

Our plan of getting a hotel room was scraped. "Let's call Fallanne and use her hotel room to change," I suggested, knowing my niece was smart enough to have reserved a room. Why hadn't I reserved a room? Oh yeah...I'd called last week and was told they only had one room left-a king suite with a fireplace and jacuzzi for $350. I thanked him and said I'd sleep in my truck first. Yet another prophetic moment.

We passed Queens, skirted by Manhattan and finally made it out of second gear as we crossed into New Jersey before coming to another long standstill.

GPS arrival time:  4:59

I sighed. "Okay...forget Fal. Get dressed now." Tilting the passenger seat back, Sydney discreetly began a wardrobe change in the close confines of her car. I winced as a tour bus pulled up alongside us.

GPS arrival time: 5:13

We were close but no gas station or fast food joint appeared as a changing room. We were on single stretches of country road and ridiculously, hit a final traffic jam within a half mile of the wedding venue. My turn. We mapped out and enacted a closely choreographed wardobe change in record speed. We pulled in, parked and were seated by 5:20 (after a lightning-fast trip to the restroom). Sydney typed out a quick text to her father letting him know we'd arrived successfully. Relieved but puzzled, he texted back, "But what are you and your mother wearing?"