I'm not here. I'm over there.
I'm doing a parody of my wife when we're on a road trip.
She'll say,"Look at that." (insert unusual item such as dog walking on hind legs down the street with master attached to a leash).
I'll ask, "Where?"
She'll reply, "There."
Me again, "Where's there?"
Then she'll point as if I blind, as well as stupid, "There."
By this time the dog, wild beast, cloud that looks like a hammer or deep hole in the ground will be gone, long gone.
We were in the parking lot of a supermarket in Key West after a particularly grueling flight with all four teenage children. We'd rented a car in Miami. They automatically upgraded us to a Lincoln Towncar. Nobody wants a Lincoln Towncar in Florida because you look like a drug runner. We're hungry. A car pulls up next to us. A woman gets out accompanied by an elderly man. She begins walking toward the store entrance. Elderly man looks around, lost. "Over here, stupid," she says. We stifle laughs at the same time feeling sorry for the elderly man with the impatient wife.
Often, I'll think of the Key West supermarket when Dawn says ,"Look, over there." and I see nothing.
So I'm not here. I'm over there. www.sevenroadsgallery.wordpress.com.
It's nicer over there.
A dyed-in-the-wool criminal
1 day ago