Things heard, said, or done in the deep dark middle of nowhere or on the surrounding highways and bi-ways:
“They were having a fire sale, so I got a bunch of brand new bras and underpants! Everything that was going south just got a huge HUGE lift!” (65-year-old woman friend making my FIL’s eyes pop out.)
***
“What are you watching?”
“America’s Next Top Model.”
“Oh. That sounds stupid.”
***
“Is she going to be OKAY???”
(Little girl’s voice piping up from the dark theatre during the movie “Enchanted”)
***
“What is this obsession that women of a certain age have with jewel tones??”
“I don’t know.”
“If I ever start wearing nothing but jewel tones, I want you to kick me in the anus.”
***
“I’m annoyed with Jesus right now.”
“Just now? You just decided this?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Why?”
“Well, think of how easily he made friends. I mean, you go up to some dudes — while they’re busy working even — and say, ‘Come with me and I’ll make you fishers of men’ and that actually works?? Everyone just drops what they’re doing and goes with you??
“So you’re mad because you think he must have used some divine mojo or something?”
“Yes. I mean, I couldn’t go up to a group of women and use that same line. I could, but they’d think I’m nutso. Rightly so. I believe he was God incarnate, and clearly, in this situation, he was using a little extra somethin’ that I don’t have. So, yeah, I’m annoyed.”
“Because you think he took a shortcut? Cheated by the power of the Holy Spirit??”
“I kinda do. I mean, did he say, ‘Uhm, hi. I’m Jesus. Would you like to hang out, go for a bowl of olives?’ Did he join a book club? A bowling league? A carpenter’s union? Do any of the other things we non-God-incarnate people have to do? No. He’s a total stranger and he uses that line and it works and it’s weird!!”
After this, I think the conversation just devolved into devising other ridiculous ways Jesus could have made friends. What can I say? It’s a 7-hour drive. The mind wanders and degrades.
For instance, I started this game ……
~ “Okay. Howie Mandel has a case with a million bucks in it. We can have it, but you have a decision to make and it’s this: For a million bucks, would you decide to have my boobs become magically smaller? For A MILLION BUCKS now.”
“No.”
“You’re not even asking me what size?”
“Okay. What size?”
“Uhm, okay. A B-cup.” (I have large boobins, people. I think B-cups are lovely. I do. I actually never understand women who want theirs bigger.)
“No.”
“For a million bucks??”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“All right. My question: For a million bucks, would you decide to have me become magically shorter?”
“How short?”
“6-1” (He’s 6-4.)
“Well, okay. For a million bucks. I mean, you’re tall; you’ve got some wiggle room. 6-1 isn’t short. ”
“It is to me.”
“Oh, boo hoo. Okay. Same deal. Million bucks. You HAVE to choose. B-cup or brown eyes?” (My eyes are blue, so I just picked brown eyes. I love brown eyes. This game isn’t about that. It’s about something else. I have no idea what.)
“Okay. B-cup. Your eyes are too much of who you are to me. It would be weird. You would seem completely different. Would you change my eye color for a million bucks?”
“No.”
“All right. Million bucks. But I will have a HUGE afro for the rest of our natural lives.”
“Can you shave it and grow back your real hair?
“NO! That will be my real hair.”
“Uhm, no. Okay. A million bucks but I have size 11 feet.”
“What size is that in men’s shoes?”
“What difference does that make? It’s big.”
“It will help me to gauge it.”
“Uhm, I think it’s 13 in men’s? I don’t know.”
“Oh. No. No way. I don’t want my wife to have flipper feet.”
This went on for a long long while …. with each of us transforming ourselves, mutilating ourselves for a million bucks … or not …. giving ourselves Tourette’s or the inability to ever stop picking our nose …. even in public ….. or when we’re asleep … you know ……
Try the “For a Million Bucks” game next time you’re trapped in a car for an eternity!! S’fun!!
Alternatively, play, “What is Wrong with your Mother?”
I’d stick with the million bucks game, tho’, if I were you.
