I just recalled that I said “hella” yesterday in conversation. That is my life’s greatest regret.
Since it’s available for instant viewing on Netflix, I thought I’d watch a bit of “Year One” so that I could say I turned it off half-way through. It ceased being funny before the opening credits were over.
I would like to ask a couple questions of the fellow driving the truck that cut me off on the freeway this morning. I want to know why he felt it necessary to swerve two feet in front my car when we both had two tractor-trailor lengths between us and the next cars in our lanes. I also want to know why he was speeding down the road with loose plywood in his bed. I’m minding my own business in the family van, cruise-controlling the second lane of the freeway, when Peter Poor-Planning cuts in and slings a sheet of plywood from his truck at my front bumper. I’m just grateful it didn’t hit my windshield because I pulverized that plywood. It would have destroyed any glass it hit.
The damage is limited to that corner of the car. It scratched the plastic and the paint, busted one of the lamps so that it’s hanging down, and tore a corner of the other lamp cover. Again, I’m grateful, but frustrated.
