But freedom comes at a cost.
Specifically, the inner walls of my skull pay a heavy price every time we drive down, well, ANY road in the great state of New Jersey.
Potholes, potholes EVERYWHERE.
It's not enough that Jersey has the most confusing road system in the US, boasting 10 foot on ramps with STOP SIGNS ON THEM and exit signs posted 10 feet AFTER THE EXIT so that even the locals get lost on their regular commutes home from work, NO; Jersey is also apparently trying to set the record for number of potholes per square yard.
Our car silently weeps every time we turn her on for fear of the road ahead.
Typical scenario:
Andrew driving down the road. Our little family happily chatting and listening to something cute Brooklyn is saying when...
SMASH
SMASH
SUHHH-MASH!
Our jaws slam into our skulls.
Once, twice, three times a lady.
The front end of our car emerges from a depth of hell otherwise known as three six foot deep potholes back to back.
There is a loaded silence that would make a Buddhist monk tremble.
Rage boils in everyone's blood.
I turn around to see Brooklyn draw an imaginary switchblade.
Andrew has broken the steering wheel off of the dashboard and is now eating it.
I have crapped my pants in upset.
Peanut, our teacup yorkie, has somehow found a mouse, has deskinned it, and is wearing the skin over her face.
When you hit potholes like you do in Jersey, you feel it in your soul.
It rattles your DNA.
What it looks like:
What it feels like:
(Note the airbag.)
Okay, so our airbags haven't deployed...yet...but our struts are now leaking fluid as a result of the house-eating potholes.
There's a rumor I'm starting now that says New Jersey potholes are actually sinkholes caused by the earth trying to swallow Jersey in revolt of the road system and the smell of Bayonne, in general.
The future is wide open...
