It just finished storming hurricane sized proportions here in Columbia, MO (okay, maybe a tiny hurricane). The wind was heavy, you couldn’t see the other side of the street, power was going out everywhere, cows were flying through the air and witches were pedaling bicycles. It lasted all of 15 minutes before pale blues returned to the sky and the sun once again made an appearance. It was then that Mom and I decided it was safe to come out from hiding at TGI Fridays, where we had met for lunch (10th day in a row of seeing each other). I drove home, and had just been thinking about how great this day had been, and would continue to be (I have plans to meet up with friends later in the evening). I walked out to grab the mail, dodging puddles on my way, there was nothing there. As I closed the door, and turned to head back inside, a large (and probably lifted) white pick-up truck goes whooshing by, splashing up a gust of cold, graveled rain water from the street all over me. It was like a scene from a movie; I heard him coming from behind me, and saw what fate was before me with just enough time to turn my head the opposite direction. My Eric Church t-shirt! It’s been contaminated with filthy road water! How dare that man, go speeding by me, splash the crap out of me with his stupid giant truck, and not even stop to offer me a towel or a drink. That is not how you treat a lady, sir, may you never make a woman wet again.
Leila Marie 