Last night, my husband—who’s got 20 years of experience in reading my moods—suggested take-out for dinner. Yay! Called up our local house of pizza, who feeds my family more often than I do, and ordered our pizza and my husband’s spaghetti. But I can’t go anywhere without drama. My husband’s convinced I’m actually a magnet for road-drama and every time I leave the house, his last words are always a very firm “drive safely”.
Like it’s my fault!
First I ran into my road nemesis—the moron who needs an engraved invitation to pull out. I try to be nice when I’m driving (no really, I do!) and let people out into traffic. Mr. Toyota truck was coming out of a parking lot where it’s notoriously hard to go left. There was nobody coming the other way and a line of traffic behind me, so I slowed down and waved him out. He sat there. You know this guy. He’s the one who sits while you wave and flash your lights and beep your horn and you’re practically doing semaphore out the freaking window to get him to pull out.
Then, when you scream “SCREW YOU, YOU STUPID JERK BECAUSE I WAS TRYING TO BE NICE!” and start to go, he pulls out. You almost drive into the side of his truck and he flips you off and mouths “crazy bitch” at you.
But there’s pizza at this end of this journey and I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t let me bring it to the police station with me, so I let it go.
I had Kermit the Fiesta, so I grabbed some car debris to build up the passenger seat to level so all the cheese and pepperoni wouldn’t slide to the back. Then I set the bag with my husband’s spaghetti on top.
A little backstory infodump: I talk to everything. Inanimate objects. Drivers who can’t hear me. Televisions. While I have difficulty speaking to people, I talk to things that can’t talk back almost constantly. Especially when I’m driving. It’s like self-color commentary.
Last night was fairly mild, weather-wise, and I had the window about 3/4 down. Early spring is a particularly embarrassing time for me because I always forget about that damn open window. Like I did last night when I took the left corner a little hard and the spaghetti started to slide across the top of the pizza box…
“OH MY GOD, BASGHETTI, PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!” And then, when the bag wedged against the door handle, just out of my reach… “STAY ALIVE, NO MATTER WHAT OCCURS!”
I have got to stop staying stupid things in all caps downtown when the window’s down.