Signs

Seems to be a MysticThe UU service in Des Moines this morning sounded interesting—a teen talking about trans-gender issues.  I’d missed the last couple of Sundays, so my intent last night was to shake off the bipolar ennui enough to get there today.  I was a little late, so grabbed a frappuccino out of the cooler at the gas station instead of standing in line at Starbucks.  But it was snowing, and slushy, and the roads hadn’t been cleared well.  On the road, I debated whether to keep going or turn back and watch the rest of Season One of Hannibal instead (I’m preparing for next season when Richard Armitage joins the cast—yaay!).

As I pondered, I shook my frappuccino.  The lid flew off, and sugared coffee doused me, my windshield, and everything else with me (purse, dash, floor).  Dumbstruck, then laughing, I grabbed at Kleenex and mopped my face.

“Okay, okay, I’ll turn around!”

After scrubbing out the car (sticky, but what a yummy smell!), washing my coat, purse, book bag in the tub, and sticking my head under the faucet to get the coffee-sugar out of my hair, I watched the snow plows rumble by.  That’s okay.  Sometimes I do have to get hit over the head to get the message.  Or, at least, splashed in the face.

Are you ready, Dr. Lecter?

spilled coffee

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