Sunday, April 29, 2012

Highway mileage sign

It had been a long weekend.  A Jimmy Buffett concert came to be jokingly referred to as “the double date from hell” as my college roommate Amy and I ended up attending it with our ex-boyfriends.  We were all friends.  We had bought the tickets months before, and when things ended on good enough terms, we decided we were mature enough to all have fun together. 

The concert turned into a thunderstorm, the stadium transformed into a giant mud puddle, and our “dates” morphed into drunken buffoons.  When my ex finally made his way back to the car hours after the thunderstorm and concert had ended, he was covered and caked in mud.  His only explanation was a slurred, “Some hippies threw me down a hill.” 

The night only got worse when our “dates” ended up taking off their clothes – mine because he couldn’t get in the car with all of that mud and Amy’s because “if he gets to be naked, then I want to be also.” Amy and I ended up in tears.  Who wants to be in a cold car after a lousy concert with two drunk, smelly, and unclothed college guys?  Our breaking point came when they refused to put their clothes back on.

The next day, on our way home from Raleigh to Greenville, Amy was determined to salvage some aspect of the weekend.  Always finding the sunny side of things, she said, “Let’s stop and take a picture with the highway mileage sign you always giggle at!”  I grumbled a non-reply, and she pulled the car over to the side of the road.

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