The water came out of nowhere and rained like buckets onto my car. “Whoa! Where did that come from?” I said to Sharon with surprise. “From those little metal spouts,” she said. “Don’t you know how a car wash works?”
The Latin music was a nice diversion, but after about 30 minutes of it, it was time to switch back to my usual classic rock. So I pulled over to the side of the road and asked the mariachi band pile out onto the median.
I pulled into the full-service station and signaled for the attendant to fill ‘er up. But as it turns out, in the south the middle finger means a very different thing. I’m not sure what, but probably something like “please punch me in the face.”
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” the cop said as I handed him my driver’s license. “Actually, no,” I replied. “Damn it. I was hoping one of us would,” he maligned as he handed back my license and reluctantly trudged back to his car.
The cheeseburger seemed like a good idea at the time, but now my stomach had me thinking otherwise. I couldn’t let on I was hurting though, because I didn’t want to give Sharon the satisfaction. This isn’t the first time she’s warned me about eating food I’ve found sitting on the side of the road.
And as I drove along, that little hill sitting in front of me eventually grew into a majestic mountain. “Wow,” I said as I marveled at its beauty, “these grow sponge toys are amazing!”
After all those hours of driving, my butt was completely asleep. And so was the rest of me, which is how I ended up in that ditch.