Up until recently, I had a delivery route for the paper I write for that took me all over half of my town and part of another. There never ceased to be some sort of amusement out there on the wild roads of southwest Georgia. There was one day however, that was particularly awesome.
It started out just like every other Wednesday. I delivered papers, chatted with a few gas station owners, wished that the good life city would be somehow covered in a blanket of snow as I sweat my lovely rear end off- the normal events. Once I hit about the half way point of my route though things got weird. A very good kind of weird.
I pulled into a gas station (duh) and noticed a new sign in the door that said “Now available- Blanket of Mexican.” I’m not one to pay much attention to broken english (oh who are we kidding, yea I am) but this was too good to pass up. I mean come on, blanket of Mexican? It’s a combination of horror film and “as seen on tv” in it’s finest form.
Just as I had stopped laughing at that somewhat twisted image, I pulled into another gas station and saw a dude standing there wearing a Burger King crown. If I wasn’t a happily married woman I would have talked to him. I mentioned such on Facebook and a friend of mine asked why I couldn’t just talk to him. Apparently she has never found herself in the the presence of such sexiness because if she had she’d know that you don’t just talk to a man rocking a Burger King crown, you have no choice but to go home with him and I’m not that kind of girl.
The crown jewel of my day was at my next stop. I pulled into a parking spot and looked off to my left. The front license plate caught my eye. It was that diamond-plate pattern you find in auto shops and was pink…and it had a big ol’ crown on it.
My curiosity piqued, I took another look and I would not be surprised if the owner of this car had a wedding colors of blush and bashful.
The seats were pink, the steering wheel had a pink cover, the dashboard was wearing a pink coat. It was very very pink. But that wasn’t the crowning achievement. Oh no. That honor went to the embroidery on the seat covers that proclaimed this vehicle was in fact owned by a “lil’ princess”. Because every princess needs a crown there was a rather large one hanging from the rear view mirror.
As I was drinking in this beauty, the owner opened the door.
I damn near died when I saw this woman. She was about 5 foot nothing and at least 75 years old. She had her glasses hanging from a chain and looked like she’d probably been a librarian for 50 plus years.
It’s a good thing I was already parked because I would have probably caused an accident I laughed so hard.
Once I composed myself, I drove on to my next stop. And as god is my witness I’m sitting there waiting for a woman and a Piggly Wiggly employee (who was probably about 6’5, 100 pounds, and pushing 90 years old) to cross the parking lot and I notice the man’s shirt says “Getting Piggy With It”.
I about lost it. Outdated cultural reference adorning the shirt of a man in the twilight of his twilight? It was too much.
By this time I was thoroughly tickled and pretty much anything set me off. The cherry on my fabulous sundae of a day? Driving home and seeing a sign advertising a prayer service for rain.
In and of itself- not a big deal and not very humorous.
The fact that there were big ass snowflakes on this rain-centric sign?
Enough to send me home in a fit of giggles.
Another fabulous day!
:::slow clap::: Kudos to you for the Steel Magnolias reference.
Oh my goodness. We do have quite a collective bunch here in the southern wilds of Georgia, don’t we? I will look out for the man in the “piggy” shirt as well because they’re currently building a Piggly Wiggly a few miles up the road from here, and I’m almost positive he’ll drop by.
Thanks for the laugh.