Dear Readers Welcome! I am happy to report I actually made it home safely from my road trip on the freeways of this great state of California, the longest state in our great nation, mind you, — where I spent four wonderful days visiting my daughter Jackie, her husband, Tyler, and my new grandson, Henry.
Peanuts gets worried
Of course, driving there, Dear Readers, took a tad bit longer than it should have due to the fact that I had to go 45 minutes at 40 mph before I could get my nerve up to pass a semi that seemed to my brain, Peanuts, anyway that it was driving recklessly.
The Menace of Rest Stop Pigs
Of course, my brain, Peanuts, the crazy story maker upper, had the truck driver pegged as a legally-blind, drunken serial killer/truck driver on crack who was texting his friend waiting at the rest stop up ahead to see if there were any Little Old Lady Granny-Types, such as myself, that he could murder and chop up into a million little pieces and feed to the pigs.
I know it’s a preposterous thought, Dear Readers, I have to laugh actually, because I’ve never seen any pigs at rest stops.
Restrooms, Restrooms Everywhere and Not a One to Use
Still, I didn’t stop even though I needed to use the restroom. I decided, instead, to stop somewhere in King City which the sign said was only 27 miles away.
It was at that point I entered the Twilight zone where the forward motion of my car was just an illusion wherein an evil force was pulling the road underneath me like a treadmill and causing me to quit making any forward progress. Here’s what the road signs kept saying:
27 miles to King City
45 minutes later:
11 miles to king City
40 minutes later:
3 miles to King City
a half an hour later:
You just passed King City
Carl Jr. Saves Me From Kidnapping Gypsies
I’m happy to report, however, that I finally found an easy exit with a Carl Jr’s to stop at. I pulled in to park and just then a white van pulled up next to me, the doors flew open and lo and behold!
It was chalk-full of gypsies!
Peanuts assumed this because the women were wearing long black dresses with gold bric-a-brac sewn to them accessorized by lots of dangling gold jewelry.
And they were clearly speaking a language that sounded very much like not English!
My Last Meal Pro-active-ness
As I was walking into Carl Jr., the gypsy driving the van and his cohort got out and stood next to my car. I heard them chatting about something and even though I couldn’t understand what they were saying, Peanuts thought whatever it was had a definite “untoward” ring to it.
My brain, Peanuts, started making up a story about how they were a roving band of gypsies, tramps and thieves — as the lyrics to the Cher’s song, Gypsies, Tramps and Thievess is the only thing Peanuts knows about gypsies.
Peanuts started thinking that maybe the Gypsies were in cahoots with the crack truck driver/serial killer, and that they were out looking for Little Old Lady Granny-Types , such as myself, and well . . . . well, never mind about the “well.”
The Final Gulp
So when I got into Carl Jr.s and looked back to see them still standing by my car — even though I wasn’t the least bit hungry — I went ahead and ordered the Orange Cream Hand-Scooped Milkshake because I thought it would be a fitting last meal.
If one were forced to eat one’s last meal at Carl Jr., that is.
The One-Piece Arrival
Anyway, Dear Readers, you’ll be happy to know that in the end I made it home safely.
And I must say! I’ve got a new lease on life! After all, it’s not everyday, one is spared from death by not being kidnapped by Gypsies and cut up into a million little pieces by a legally-blind, drunken serial killer/truck driver on crack and fed to rest stop pigs!
Proving once again, Dear Readers, that it truly is the little things that make life worth living.
Until next time . . . I love you