Wednesday morning went like this: Glynn and I went out to the local pancake place for breakfast, we ate pancakes, a good time was had by all…except maybe our waitress, who wasn’t having the best day of her life, but that’s another story. (Alison, I’m telling you now, the man is nearly 40 years old. He’s spent most of his adult life in college, studying for a series of degrees, while you’ve supported him by delivering delicious pancakes to your appreciative customers. Also, semi-delicious hash browns. Not matter what you told him last night, the odds aren’t good that he’s finally going to go out and find a job, especially when he tells you he wants to get ANOTHER degree. Just an observation.)
As we’re driving back home, I was mentally organizing my day ahead – (a) write blog and (b) finally get my garage sale ready, because I’ve been meaning to do this for months now, the spare room is packed with boxes, and it’s time to pull the trigger – when Glynn pulled the car up to a stop sign and stopped.
Which, apparently, was the wrong choice because the auto behind us didn’t stop.
Well, it did, inevitably, but only after schmunching into our back bumper, sending bits of vehicle everywhere and pushing our car across the intersection. After checking all involved for broken limbs and bleeding pieces, the other driver offered her opinion that there wouldn’t have been an accident if only Glynn had kept his foot on the accelerator.
“But it was a stop sign,” Glynn said, and I could tell that the woman wasn’t impressed by his strict observation of the law. In time, a motorcycle cop stopped by who displayed a little more appreciation of the traffic laws. After he wrote his report, he gave the other driver a ticket. Until that moment, the three of us didn’t know that anyone would be getting fined. When the second driver objected, the policeman explained it like this: “There’s a rule. You’re not allowed to drive into things.”
The rest of the day was spent with insurance companies and the local auto shop and “stuff”. No blog for me. But next week?
I won't be going out for pancakes. We should be good.