Picture it...I was damn near doored on the way to work today. And...? Yes, yes, on the left. I was almost doored from the LEFT! I was not on the sidewalk and the car was not parked.
"What the FUCK is wrong with you!? You have a brand new baby in the car and you're slamming the fucking door?!!"
I could hear the screaming from the front seat over the door slamming in the back. Oh good, the pill is still regulated, drinking age restricted, and a license still required to operate a motor vehicle--babies, still popping out-- no responsibility necessary.
They do suggest a Mozart concerto for zygotes marinating in the womb. I'm not sure about post-popping, but I'm guessing door slamming is not so soothing to the cooing newborn. But really Mom, let's talk about your relationship with the shouting, cursing asshole in the front seat.
The beauty of the bike is it gives me a personal tour of Americana up close and personal like. And I hate to burst your bubble, but it's not so Norman Rockwellesque. Sometimes...
A few miles away, we have a puppy story, and who doesn't love puppies? In one corner we have Senor Perro Owner, rein in one hand, rein in the other. Two dogs stretched in either direction.
In the other a mirror image of Mademoiselle Chien Owner, leash hand, leash hand, dogs...intermersed and betwixt t'other...
RIGHT FRONT PAW....GREEN!
2 comments:
My dogs would play that game! But aren't they color blind? Might need to be more symbol based. Right paw to cat, left paw to bone...
Happy Birthday!
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