So I'm driving to work last Monday morning, thinking about what a great weekend I had with my BF (yes, my BF, Hot Sexy Man, who embodies all the qualities normally reserved for a Greek god—you're welcome, baby), when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a guy in my rearview mirror.
He drives behind me in a white BMW SUV. Professional, thirtyish, white shirt, clean cut. With. His. Finger. Up. His. Nose. I'm all, Dude, no! You are NOT alone! STOP THAT! I beg you.
But he's committed, and it's like watching a drilling rig haul out the survivors of the Chilean mining disaster. You root for a successful rescue, of course, but you're unsure what shape the little guys'll be in when they emerge from the depths. I want to shield my eyes, but that is impossible because I'm driving—and because I can't believe what I'm witnessing. I am riveted to my rearview, where Beamer Boy remains knuckle deep in Operation Liberation for about three green lights.
Next thing I know, I shudder to say, a grown man, laboring with one finger up his nose, then makes a conscious decision to ingest what he finds there. At this point I'm beyond asking, Why? Why? WHY? Oh no. I've moved on to What's wrong with flicking?
Now, I'm all for nurturing your inner child and having a sense of play in your life. I'm partial to trampoline jumping on my mattress—and yours if you're not looking—but this sort of reckless abandon stretches the concept a mite too far. If he was in my car, I'd slap him silly. But he's not, so when I veer into the left-hand turn lane at the red light and Beamer Boy pulls up next to me, I can't resist getting his attention and tapping my nose while making the "Ew, OMG, ew!" face. When the light goes on in his eyes that his secret mission has been compromised, he exits stage right with a sudden tire-spinning turn. And he's not even in the turn lane. That's right, Beamer Boy, get far, far away.
Except you can never get that far away from a woman with a blog. This happened April 23, and when I searched for an image to post, looky what I found.
Dude, the International Diocese for Idealistic Observances That are Stupid (IDIOTS) have determined what you did was okay. I, however, may slap you silly if I ever see you again.
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A book is born! (Actually four).
3 hours ago
