Can you imagine a pregnant roller skate? That was my little French car. A metal body on four wheels. It was an excuse for a car really! I had a sticker on the back fender that said, “Flea market junkie” and I was.
The strongest memory I have of that car is the day I took Channel, our adorable, complacent, blond Bearded Collie, to the vet.
On our return home, a waft of an unpleasant odour hit my nostrils. It became a more and more intense. Argh! Channel, tell me its only gas! As I continued to drive, I feared it was much more than gas. When I got home, my worst fears were confirmed. There was diarrhea all over the back seat.
I went in the house and offered $10 to whomever was willing to clean up the mess. Damon liked the idea of $10. So out he went, only to return in an about face and say, “Not me!”
Tyson thought this was his opportunity to make a buck. But, no, he wasn’t up to the task either.
Brandon, now it was his turn. He put on the yellow rubber gloves, got the pail of soap and water and out he went to make his fortune.
He came in with the profound advice, “Mom. You have to buy a new car.”
So who cleaned it up? Well, I was agreeing with Brandon until Don went and did the dirty deed. Good ol’ Don!
No comments:
Post a Comment