Sunday morning, we got up at four AM. I know, I know! You’re right! That IS gross!

We did it so we could drive to Nebraska, meet a total stranger, and pick up a flathead motor and tranny that Brett bought off of eBay.

Four. In. The. Morning.

By the time the sun was up I was feeling pretty groggy and bitchy. I had to pee, I was STARVING, and my dearly beloved kept driving past all the exits with golden arches. By the time my situation became intense, we were in B.F.E. with no hope of a decent exit in sight. I finally got him to just pull the hell off so I could pee before I suffered permanant bladder damage, and we ended up in a town with literally nothing in it – a quaint but empty square two miles from the highway. Argh! Brett located a Casey’s before I had to pee in a ditch, and he bought himself breakfast but I got a doughnut because some lady in front of me bought the last croissant with no dead animal flesh on it. Hurumph.

Back on the freeway. We’d been driving for four hours and it wasn’t even eight in the morning yet. Fortunately, there was a McDonald’s a few exits down and I finally got something to eat. Whew. And then: I took a nap. Damn right.

By ten AM we were parked in the parking lot of a Super 8 at the predetermined exit off of I-80. Brett called the guy, the guy was running late. I ran around in the Super 8’s yard with Meathead and we played fetch with a plastic pop bottle (until he popped it – he was so startled when pop started spraying out – so cute).

The guy and his partner showed up, and they transferred this big, old, rusty looking engine/tranny from their truck to our truck. Then the three of them stood around smoking cigarettes and talkin’ parts for awhile, Brett gave the guy his money, they strapped the engine down, and the other guys drove off.

Brett was totally stoked with his new flathead. There’s a rumor the thing might actually run; wouldn’t that be cool?

Then we drove some more. By now it’s noon, I’ve been in the truck since ten to five, and if my hubby wasn’t so pleased with the world I think I would have been grumpy. As it was, I commandeered his stereo and rocked out to some iPod action for awhile – so nice to listen to soul and R&B instead of blue eyed blues and rock! Eventually, we returned to Des Moines. And Mr. Brett was Ready For Dinner.

So I called Tahmi. She answered, “Hello, this is Tahmi.”

“Tahmi! It’s Mush!”

“Hi Mush!”

“Will you be OnStar for me?”

“Sure!”

“Okay, I’m in Des Moines on the way back from Nebraska, I’ve been up since four AM, and we’re hungry. Where do we go to eat in Des Moines?”

“What are you in the mood for?”

“We don’t care. Something good. Uh, Italian.”

“Oh! Yeah! And you’re with a big eater! Go to that place, ah… I can’t remember the name. It’s family-style Italian.”

“Oh! Yeah! We ate there together once, right?”

“Yeah. Where are you at?”

I read her the upcoming exit name and she squealed, “Get off now! NOW! That’s your exit!” I relayed her urgency to Mr. Brett, who crossed two lanes in about six feet of forward motion and got us off at the exit. Such a stud. Tahmi gave us directions to ‘that Italian place past Olive Garden, on the right’ and I thanked her profusely and hung up.

“You’re gonna love this place,” I told Brett.

So we ate delicious food at Buca Di Beppo and I’ll tell ya, it made the WHOLE TRIP TOTALLY WORTH IT, even the gross getting-up-at-four part. Their food is awesome, and my beloved redhead had some kind of foodgasm when he tucked into his veal parmigiana. We ordered a second garlic bread to take home with our leftovers. Yum, yum, YUM.

I love that place. I’d only been there twice: once with Krista & Barb, and once with Tahmi, but it’s so fun there. The place is stuffed to the rafters with tchotchke, the staff is great, the food is amazing, and, well, I just really enjoyed myself. AND we had delicious left-overs to take home with us. (I had two manicottis to look forward to, Brett had more veal, and there was a whole order of garlic-cheese bread. Yes!)

Back in the truck. We drove home. By the time we got there it had taken over ten hours of driving, I’d been in the truck so long my ass was sore, and I was exhausted even though I hadn’t done anything but sit all day. We ate our leftovers around 7:30 and MAN OH MAN was the stuff delicious!

I think we were both passed out by eight o’clock.

The moral of the story is this: don’t let your husband get on eBay. Ever. But if he does, maybe you’ll get a decent meal out of the deal!