I feel I needed to expand upon the hilarity that is my mother’s truck stoppery.
Last night, mom called me while she was still driving across country.
She’s on her world tour.
Anyway, she was having trouble trying to find a rest stop.
Yeah, she was still using that shitty GPS Machine Lady. And for all intents and purposes, her relationship with that location unit is the equivalent to my hate/hate relationship with Siri. Maybe hate is too strong a word. Loathing? No, leave it at hate. Hate is good.
We have an understanding. Let’s just leave it at that.
Back to mom.
Along the way, she stopped at a rest stop for gas, some food, let her dogs out to do their doggy duty. Where she was hit on by a burly man…accompanied by a wife and kids in a rusty wagon. Not sure what that was about. But, I couldn’t stop giggling. So wrong. I know. Totally wrong. But you can imagine the plethora of questions that pop up in that situation! And the laughter. Way too much laughter. I told mom just to quickly hop back into her truck because I don’t need to watch the ID channel to discover the mangled, murdered woman depicted in the show – after she visits a dark and scary place -matches her description.
One more stop for the night. A truck stop for gas/food, more dog duty… and a lonely trucker mistook her for a truck stop prostitute. She hustled back to her car faster, waving and hollering, “Not your lot lizard here, dude!!” Aw, mom, he just wanted some affection.
Again, I couldn’t contain my laughter.
Moral of the story? Theres a moral here? No booty shorts when traveling abroad. What? Make sure you’re wearing some sturdy running shoes.
Oh! And grab a can of police-grade mace.
You just never know.
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Before I could open a yawn to the day, my adorable child brought me coffee and amaretti’s in bed. Even the boy knows that without coffee, I am a miserable old cow. But, that wasn’t the end of it, he also made poached eggs and ham. I was in heaven. This is usually me on the other end of the kitchen delivery and this morning I was awakened to a blessed breakfast with a perfectly cooked egg, I might add. I knew this little munchkin could cook. Ok, maybe he’s not a little one anymore -the monster is pushing 6’1- but regardless, the monkey has been pretending to not know how to cook! I bit my tongue. Normally, my sarcasm and bratty tone would have commenced but I was determined to enjoy all this pampery. Please clean up. Please clean up. Please clean up.