Stop Light part 2

One should always be careful of what you ask for. I wanted a red light. Boy, did I get one.

My hubby can’t get a green light to save his soul. Not even with a pregnant chihuahua in labor and his wife sitting next to him. Me, on the other hand, I get a lot of greens. In fact, if I hit too many reds, I start wondering what gods’ Cheerios I knocked over. Seriously.

But I asked for a stop light.

My day did not improve from the last post, which was written around 11, but I told it to post around 2. I had already scheduled the previous one to post at 11, and I really don’t want to spam anyone.

A company I’m dealing with, has an employee that continually allows stupid to fall off of her fingers, into her emails. I could detour here and rant, but she’s nothing. I’m seeking balance.

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Sooooo, we get to the part of the day that I pack my bags and jet out to the place that I chill and knit.

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The weather was warm, and I was definitely looking forward to warmth. I put on a favorite pair of flip flops, forgetting that I was going to be driving the Ottomobile, which is a stick, not automatic.

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You might notice that the soles are a bit thick. Honestly, they are like walking on marshmallows. Unlike my Denali, the Ottomobile does not have adjustable pedals. Clutches do not care if you have an additional inch or inch and a half of space, lacking sensitivity. Gods forbid, you have to stop for a red light, going uphill.

If you’ve ever driven stick, you’ll know how nice an automatic is, going uphill. Top that up with the idiot in one of the first Kias made, who decided to ride my, um, bumper up the hill, to a stop. I tried to scootch up, revving the engine, as I let off the clutch. I looked back, and not only did he scoot up, (oblivious to the fact that if he was a real guy, he’d know by that revving, I was driving a stick and trying to avoid rolling back into his car). His car was close enough to smell the sticky glue holding the tags on Ottomobile’s license plate.

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Really, it gets better.

I looked back, considering flying the bird, only to see his pinky finger buried up his nose. At a minimum of two joints deep. Impressive, really. No brain to block the intrusion?

Oh for a chance to take a picture!

The light turned green, and I left him in the dust. Laughing all the way to the highway.

Be careful of what you ask for. Be thankful for life’s little moments.

Life is short. Make every day, minute and second count. Do whatever you do, fully, with vigor, with intent. Live. and laugh…

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