Barreling down the interstate going to the clinic. The lil’wrekker behind the wheel.
9 times I told her slow this mini(cooper) piece of crap down. 9 times she ignored me. #10, in an all to shrill voice I said “I mean it… I’m gonna barf if you don’t slow down?”
(Gas station biscuit sammich, don’t ask. I’m stupid)
She freakin’ slowed down. Pulled over to the shoulder. I thought she was gonna kick me out. I forgot she needs ol’becks cash or credit to shop.
She says “There’s a guy running up behind me fast with his emergency flashers on.” Safety first, and all she pulls over. Good girl.
The other car came up quick veered into the lane to his left, nearly cutting a big rig off. I audibly sucked in my breath. The lil’wrekker says…“We’re ok, Ma”
I had visions of a preggers Lady being thrown from that little car into the ditch and me having to deliver her baby while she bled out. And me barfing, bad biscuit and all.
But, no we were safe. No horrible highway fatalities occured.
We got on the road again.
5 miles down the way is a ginormous county line Liquor emporium.
I swear, I have no proof, but I saw that little car parked kinda woppy-jawed in their lot. Before we zoomed by I saw a guy step out of the driver’s seat and walk toward the store.
So, my question is. Is lack of booze an emergency now? Do people really use the emergency flashers just so they can speed?
I hope I’m wrong.
I have no trouble with folks driving fast, if they know how to or I haven’t had a bad gas station biscuit.
As long as they are safe.
I told the lil’wrekker this observation. She laughed and said “This coming from a sick women who eats nasty gas station food!”
I’ve lost all my ability to to teach this girl anymore. She is on to me.
Oh, I like gas station bacon biscuits. Or most any bacon biscuits. I sometimes make homemade cheddar garlic biscuits and a couple slices of thick-cut Wrights bacon. It’s wonderful!
Omg. Nooooo. The lil’wrekker can’t take very good care of her Build-a-bear.
I meant the fictional pregnant lady in the car with emergency flashers on. I know, I know…I make whole scenarios in my head, when I’m stressed and in fear of my life, usually I’m the one getting thrown from cars. Again…in my head.
I think my oldest daughter spoke with Beck’s youngest when Pancho took his last ride, and interpolated–incorrectly–that my Mary was manners-normal for this dump.
