(Yes, I’ll explain that weird subject line, OK?)
First, I just remembered what I forgot. When I stepped outside last week, I saw two jet overhead and stopped in my tracks. Two! At the same time! That hasn’t happened in the 2.5 years since we moved here. It’s sad to think about what jazzes me up these days, huh?
Back to the present. There I was, tooling by Costco after a long day at the office being a meeting host. The weather was cool and getting foggy, so color me disappointed when the radio started wailing in pain. Well, the young so-called singer caused me the pain, and in my case I envisioned hammering the stereo with a hatchet. But I felt pity, worried about the pain she must have been in, though her manager is the one who should be wailing.
As I gassed up, I felt so grateful at $1.76 because I think it can’t last. Too bad it’s wintertime and we can’t take advantage of it. I then checked the headlights and realized they were filthy and gas station had no squeegees or water. Road safety, what’s a guy to do? I know, win the Spit Dispute; as in, why do guys spit and woman wince in disgust? My testosterone meter pegged at 10, the headlights came clean — for the cause of safety — and I win the ‘dispute.’
Back onto the Interstate, up to the 65-mph speed limit and I Honda Odyessy’d smoothly past that advisory point to about 72. Ahhh, we hummed along so nicely. So, when I hit the outskirts of the last town before those 14 miles of deserted road before my exit, I was nicely prepared to get it up near the 80-mph flight path I’ve come to love. See, my smooth driving habits are helping the environment!
Then I exit The Fog and change my habits, using the center stripe like the stripe along the runway. The road, she is mine, all mine! Especially because with the dense fog, I wouldn’t see any oncoming cars anyway. Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit because I only do that when it’s clear outside! Lastly, a stop sign? Fine, I’ll take that also under advisement… I threw the dice and made it home. Good thing I usually telework.