So you think you are safe in your SUV?

Imagine that you are driving down the highway, any highway, and it gives way underneath you. You plummet into a deep dark hole and as you fall into the abyss that magically appeared in the middle of farm country, you snap a picture of your windshield and Instagram it with the caption WTF?

But don’t worry, it’s OK to use your cell phone while you’re nose-diving to your ultimate demise. You’re not technically driving at this point…you’re flying.

By some miracle you land on a somewhat stable amount of road rubble and contemplate the true meaning of WTF, but not before you snap up another picture for Instagram looking straight up at the sky from your rocket car poised for take-off.

You think to yourself, “Did I just fall into an elephant trap?”

That’s a reasonable guess since you are driving one. However, stop to consider that you may have hit your head in the fall and that you are in North America hundreds of miles from the nearest zoo.

“Well then, I must just have fallen asleep and driven of the road into a ditch. Yeah that’s it,” you speculate.

A ditch the shape of a volcanic tube?

The ground starts to burp beneath you and panic sets in. “Help!” you scream. “I’m in a volcano!”

Tsk tsk tsk. You should have paid attention in geology class.

Now you’re getting annoyed. You look straight at the WordPress camera and shout “What the F—”

—Whoa there little potty mouth. We’ll have none of that talk spelled out by a Woman Not Waiting. What you really mean to say is “What The Frack?”

Yes, you heard me. Again, geology 101, the course you wish you hadn’t spent all year long staring at that hottie sitting beside you. Roll down your window and grab a sample.

Is it black? Does it look like the pie crust you left in the oven for 10 hours last winter— flaky but you need a chisel and a sledge hammer to break it apart?

Then what you have here is one of Gaia’s mud pies she has been pressure cooking for millions of years with the filling sucked out. You’re trapped in a sinkhole in a region of the country where they don’t occur naturally, but don’t go victim on me girlfriend. “You are a willing participant in this monumental life event of yours,” I say as you smash the WordPress camera.

Muahahaha. I’m the omnipotent blogger so I can just move into your brain instead. You know what you did last summer…

…you bought an SUV. Here’s the heading.

“Single, successful woman striving to keep up with the boys in male dominated field buys SUV” — The PNV Chronicle.

Now if you lived on a farm (hopefully not one that has a fracking well on it) and need to plow through your fields with equipment hitched to your 4-wheel drive, then that is understandable, yet it still does not absolve you of any responsibility. But that’s not what the headline says so let’s assume you are a big city girl playing with the big city boys.

You sit there feeling really guilty and strike a deal with Gaea (the spirit of our physical Gaia) which, as a woman of impeccable integrity, you fully commit to honour. Your declaration on record is as follows:

I commit to retire my muppet-blue fossil fuel monster to a home where she will be fully exercised and to buy myself an even sexier pale blue convertible VW beetle refitted with an electric motor.

You wait. You listen. But nothing happens, so you repeat it again and again and again, breaking into sing-song as the declaration becomes entrenched in your subconscious mind.

Then it happens. You feel some rumbling under the butt of your truck and you shoot like a rocket out the sinkhole and onto a soft grassy…no…into the loving leafy branches of a canopy of trees.

Now it’s your turn to hug back.