I was just getting caught up on the cards over at Post Secret and came across one which says: “I love being the reason for other people’s road rage.”
I love that.
I covet that attitude, in all honesty. I am usually the one with the road rage. I want to be the one who mocks others’ rage.
So I forgot to mention that we had a rather exciting meal at our favorite Mexican restaurant on Monday morning. Allow me to relate the tale…
I took Monday off from Friendly Flower Place, ostensibly to recover from our weekend move to the new pad. Instead, because moving took too long, The Old Man and I had to use the day to clean the old place. While at the old place, we decided to go to our favorite neighborhood Mexican food place, for one last meal of machaca and eggs (they will make it with chicken! Score for those of us who do not eat red meat!). The owner, who knows and loves us because we go there all the time and because we are notoriously HUGE tippers, usually makes us homemade tortillas.
Because we are just that special.
Well, and because he is a super nice guy.
Anyway, so we ordered and we were sitting there, innocently munching away on chips and salsa and trying to make our breakfast/lunch last forever so that we could avoid as long as possible steam cleaning a three-level townhouse full of carpets, when all of a sudden we heard a huge BANG!, followed by an equally impressive CRASH!
Some lady drove her car through the front plate glass of the restaurant.
Yes, that occurrence we all see on the news occasionally and we think, “What kind of maroon drives their car through a building before they realize that perhaps they should step on the brakes??!!” That happened while I was sitting a mere fifteen feet away.
I felt bad for the lady. But of course I felt worse for my tortilla-making friend. He was so sweet to this inept driver who apparently does not know the difference between a D and an R. Of course, the lady got all upset and was crying and worrying that her husband was going to kill her and the tortilla-maker just offered her a drink and gave her a hug and told her everything would be OK.
And he did not knife her in the back or anything!
The man is a saint.
It was all very exciting for me, since I was not the one who ran her car through the front of a building, nor was I the one whose building was crashed in to. I have been able to relate this exciting tale to many these past few days, filling several gaps in many conversations.
However…the huge drawback of this car-crash extravaganza?
I got no homemade tortillas and this was in all likelihood our last visit to the restaurant, since it is now 50 miles from where we live.
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