Well, it’s Tuesday, which means I’m into the second day of driving my Darling husband to work. You might want to read yesterday’s blog post to catch up. I don’t want anyone lost here trying to figure out why this strange woman posts crap you don’t fully understand.
I got up before daybreak this morning to a freezing rain. Good thing too because I for sure don’t want another mishap like yesterday. I want to make sure I’m not in my PJ’s again, mussed up hair and no make-up should another crisis occur of Biblical proportion revealing my age spots.
I drive a Pony. Anyone in his or her right mind knows the middle name of a Ford Mustang is ‘Fishtail’ so I don’t like taking it out except on top down sunny days. Well that’s anyone but me. I bought it because it had a stick shift and I was going through menopause at the time.
My husband the bean counter so sorry, the accountant has an extended cab, four-wheel drive truck you need a ladder to get into. It sports a King’s Ranch & Company’s custom-made leather seats and dash interior. It has taken up residence in the big garage staying pristine. Oh it does come out for show and tell occasionally but I’m not driving it, never ask never will. It’s for sure I’d put the first and only scratch it would ever get and I love my husband and would not like seeing him turn into a werewolf.
Sooooooooo, getting back on point here after dropping him off and heading home I see that same damn RED NECK’s pick- up truck. He’s pulled over half in and half out of the lane of traffic. Bent over it appears he’s trying to reattach what’s left of that rusted through bumper that fell off Monday nearly causing me to piss my pants when I hit it, blew my brand new tire resulting in a sundry of additional problems.
Refer to yesterday’s blog for all the details please.
I drove ever so slowly by him. Holy Shit I’d recognized that crack in his ass anywhere. He’s a public figure so to speak. I saw him on that Hoarders show on TV the one and only time I ever watched it. I wanted to stop and give him the what for but I wasn’t packing and he was. All I had with me was my Bishon, Braveheart and he’d lick the shoes of an IRS auditor.
I’ve tracked down his home address and from the google satellite he’s back to hoarding big time again. A very clever thought crosses my mind. You know all those books in the trunk of my car from yesterday. Well I’m going to pay him a visit and tell him a story. Then I’m going to sell him all fifty boxes of twelve novels to the box of that well written novel of mine so he can call himself an intellectual hoarder of books. Naturally that’s acceptable.
Brilliant, I’ll solve the problem of paying off the credit card bill from the girly bar I found myself in next to the Firestone Store whilst waiting hours in my PJ’s for it to be repaired.
The RED NECK Crapper will have a new hobby and I can pay off the credit card before my sweet husband wants an explanation as to why I spent over half a day in a girly bar in my PJ’s.