Parked on the edge of I-95.
My handlers, Veronica and Real Dan were a bit vexed, and urged me to keep going, but I just couldn’t. Meanwhile, all these uppity big rig 18-wheelers were speeding by me and not the first one stopped to help! Well who needs them, anyway? They have a few too many wheels for their britches, if you know what I mean.
18-wheelers speeding by on the Interstate.
By that time Veronica and Real Dan called an ambulance for me, but when it arrived it wouldn’t take me. Then they called Dr. Andy who came out with his nurse Bobbie.
Bobby and Dr. Andy come to my rescue.
I feel bad when my hood has to be raised on the side of the Interstate!
They replaced my fuel filter and I didn’t feel colicky any more. Whew! But I was still feeling pretty bad. Veronica felt sorry for me and she called a different ambulance and after a while it carried me up the highway to something called a Weigh Station.
I hate when I am sidelined on the highway—AND parked by a wrecker.
All the trucks had to come here and be weighed. And I’m thinking, “Like I don’t feel sick enough already, and I wasn’t humiliated enough when the first ambulance refused to carry me because I was too big, and now they are going to WEIGH me???” You have no idea how relieved I was when they waved me through without having to get on the scale. (It’s not that I’m heavy, I’m just big-framed, you know.)
Anyway, the next day Dr. Andy came back and fixed me right up. (BTW, Real Dan, I won’t hold what you said—about my value as scrap aluminum—against you. Not this time, anyway.) I made it home without too much trouble and now I am relaxing after a schedule that would make any celebrity envious. I’ll tell you all about it in my next letter, Diary—including the cutest guy I met at the Museum of Science and History in Jacksonville!