Anyway, this week's normal chaos was, "We're both too tired and lazy to cook. Let's go out."
Often, a good idea. Not this time.
Friday evening it was POURING here, just raining buckets, and apparently that made it a good idea for everyone else in town to go out to eat, too. Willem wanted to go to the new/old Chinese restaurant, which had been closed for several months while they completely renovated the place. Before, it was scuzzy-looking inside but had good food. Now, it's nice enough inside, assuming your tastes run to chintzy red-and-black plastic, with really really bland food. Not quite the direction I would have chosen, myself, but whatever floats their boat.
And in Friday's rain, boats were not out of the question.
Anyway, this restaurant doesn't actually have a parking lot yet, but everybody parks next door in the Dunkin Donuts lot. There are signs on the tables in the Chinese place asking us not to park there, but by that point I'm already seated... I'll just keep it in mind for next time. Assuming I can keep anything like that in my mind, since next time will be a cold day in hell whilst pigs fly overhead, so I might be a tad distracted.
We pulled in and had to wait a few minutes for a pickup truck to back our of its space, and then we pulled in there. I vaguely remember noticing that, directly in front of the other truck, and now in front of us, there was another pickup truck parked on the grass, creating its own row even beyond the Dunkin Donuts parking lot, but it didn't even begin to register on my Give-a-Damn meter. We weren't blocking it in, because it was all alone in its (literally) ground-breaking parking spot creation, with lots of untrampled grass on either side.
So you can imagine my delight, then, to leave a mediocre meal ("No, we don't want to take the leftovers to go. Might as well shovel them directly onto the plates of the next diners, since that's what it tasted like for these"), dash back through the city-wide waterfall, and find my minivan's windshield covered in mud. At first we assumed that the parking-spot-pioneering truck, which was no longer present, had just kicked up dirt when it left, but then we were greeted by this lovely and heartfelt greeting tucked lovingly under our windshield wiper:
I cannot tell you the joy it brings to my very soul, the fact that the word "stupid" is spelled wrong.
Hallmark, if you're reading this... I don't know who and I don't know just where, but somewhere in New Hampshire, your next marketing genius is driving a white pickup truck. Angrily.
