Worry

My T, Angela, puts the big letters in WORRY WART. I mean she's far worse than your average Worry Wart with only two capital letters.

Our route has been been carefully selected, honed and perfected to weeks now. However, last night, the worrywarts began to appear. First it was, "I'm not sure I can make the corner to get the propane."

"The RV Park has been serving motor coaches our size for years. It won't be a problem," I said.

"She woke in a cold sweat, in the middle of the night, and said, "I don't think the RV will be allowed on the floating bridge."

"Semi's cross the Hood Canal on it all the time," said I. "We'll be fine."

"When the sun came up, it was, "They won't let us on the ferry with the tow car."

"If you want to worry about the ferry, consider what it going to cost us," I suggested.

"The route's not marked to Highway Five after we leave the peninsula."

"There will be signs," I promised

We got the propane without a problem, the floating bridge didn't sink, the ferry not only let us on, they charged us $87 and change, and we got to Freeway Five. Now, what worries me is how we are going to fit this big rig into most of the Canadian RV parks.