I began this morning sorrowfully boxing up Oedipus’ aquarium and heat rock, all while flashing my evil eye at Sophia. Then I sat down to breakfast … only to find that the (alleged) lizard slayer had added insult to injury by drinking the milk I’d intended for my Grape Nuts. The result was an unscheduled trip to the supermarket for yours truly.
After completing my lone purchase, I exited the store and headed for my vehicle: a two-door, silver Mitsubishi Eclipse which the (purported) reptile killer sarcastically refers to as “your girlie car.” Problem was, I remained distracted by thoughts of the good times shared with my iguana, and I walked through the parking lot oblivious to the surroundings. I inadvertently relied on autopilot alone to direct my feet — a mistake in hindsight.
Autopilot steered me to the silver girlie car. Reaching it, I opened the door and plopped myself onto the driver’s seat. I was about to put the key in the ignition when I suddenly became aware of a young woman occupying my passenger seat. Studiously typing a text message, she ignored my presence, acting for all the world as though she belonged there.
Before I could begin to ask why she’d chosen to loiter in my automobile, the woman finished texting, looked up, and glanced over at me. Then she screamed, loudly. While that auditory assault alone knocked ten years off my life, I probably lost another ten when the woman’s shrieks awakened the rear seat’s as yet unnoticed occupant. A dog the size of a small pony raised its hackles, bared it large pointy teeth and growled at me.
Eventually matters got sorted out, but not before I’d flung myself from the car (belatedly acknowledged as “not mine”) onto the pavement, inches ahead of snapping jaws. Once I’d breathlessly explained the case of mistaken vehicular identity and remotely popped the trunk of my nearly identical auto sitting one row over from and almost directly ahead of hers, the woman calmed down and called off her guard monster. I profusely apologized for the mixup, locked myself in the proper car and drove home.
I realize the word “lucky” doesn’t immediately come to mind when reading this story. But as it happened, I’d caught one of the luckiest breaks ever. While pulling out of my parking spot, I spied the other silver Mitsubishi’s driver returning to his vehicle. A strapping young man, he wore military fatigues and army boots and sported a buzz cut atop his head. Had this soldier arrived at his car two minutes earlier, I undoubtedly’d be writing today’s entry from a hospital bed, if not from the hereafter. I call that “lucky;” don’t you?
What’s “girlie” about this?