‘Twas a long day, with a long drive to and fro. (In the post that got eaten yesterday, I explained that I was accompanying my boyfriend on a work trip up to Lake Texoma today.)
As always, I kept my camera on my lap in case I saw anything interesting along the way, and, as always, I missed a few, such as the sign on a semi which read, “Caution: I make wide ass turns,” a church named, “Truth,” a Hulk Hogan doppelganger, and a business called, “The Shop,” which had the slogan, “What happens at The Shop stays at The Shop,” on its marquis. Beyond that, I couldn’t tell what kind of business The Shop actually is. Mysterious, eh?
We caught dinner at a place billing itself as, “Home of the original feed trough.” What can I say? We were hungry. The couple in the booth behind us discussed politics as they ate. Well, actually, the woman would say a word or two in between bites, so that a sentence stretched out quite a while.
Made for strenuous eavesdropping on my part. She was saying stuff like: “Someone oughta *chomp* tell *chomp* that Obama *chomp* that giving *chomp* tax cuts *chomp* to all them billionaires *chomp* *chomp* don’t make *chomp* a lick of sense.”
Her half of the conversation consisted of words, but her husband would simply grunt in reply. I think he was agreeing, but it’s hard to say for sure.
On the ride home, my boyfriend said, “Christian drivers must be the worst.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“Because I only ever see crosses beside the road marking fatalities.”
[Insert rimshot here.]
Not to make light of traffic fatalities. My best friend nearly died in a car crash, after all, as I mentioned in this post, but he has a point. I’ve never seen a star of David, a Buddha, or anything satanic beside the roadway to mark a fatal accident.