Driving

Next time I say, “Hey let’s go to Ithaca for Labor Day weekend, but not leave until after Rocco gets off work Friday night around 4pm,” slap me.  Hard.  About the traffic, dear God the traffic.  Then we had to deal with the detours, and the construction, and did I mention the traffic?

It took us six long stop-and-go hours to get our behinds to Ithaca.  Thom spent the majority of the time shouting out random selections from Texts from Last Night as he browsed on my phone.  Some of his favorites included:

  • (949): you kept calling numbers in ur phone book and saying, “I love your show, I’m a long time listener, first time caller.”
  • (720): o shit let me call u back theres a hamburger in my pocket
  • (516): Things to remember: Girls don’t appreciate it when you yell “Beast Mode!” when switching to doggy style.

We drove along without speaking for the next five minutes or so while he continued scrolling.  He erupted in laughter so loud and sudden I nearly took out a Volvo from behind.

“What?!” I asked with a mixture of alarm, annoyance, and curiosity.

Thom was starting to change color.  The guffaws were almost maniacal.  He pounded Ginny’s dashboard, then clutched his chest, drew in a deep gasp of air, and erupted in more peals of laughter.

Slowly he lost momentum as he tried to regain control of himself.  He cleared his throat, turned to face me, looked down at the screen…and completely fell to pieces again.  As we were washed in the lights of the toll plaza, I could see the tears rolling down his face.

“I might kill you, soon.  Seriously.  What?!”

After more deep breathing and settle down hand gestures, he managed to stop snarfing and sit still.  There were a few more woos and chortles, but the worst was clearly behind us.

“Whenever you’re ready,” I chided.

With great flourish, he cleared his throat, patted his chest, and spoke in his best announcer voice.  “(519): and then she said I drew a line on her forehead with my cum and whispered ‘Simba’,” he quoted to me.

I took my eyes off the road long enough to steal a glance at him.  He was not making this shit up.  Now we were both smacking the crap out of poor Ginny and stomping our feet as we howled and hooted and repeated that phrase at least fifteen times.

“It’s so beautiful, I need to share,” Thom stated with more wistfulness in his voice than I can ever remember hearing.  “I think I’ll text it to Chris, no explanation.”

“Or…you could send it from Webster.  He doesn’t have my number does he?”

I really don’t know how I kept Ginny on the road.  Thank goodness we were driving instead of drinking.  There’s no telling how bad that could have gotten if alcohol had been involved.  Apparently the time limit for more than one Lonon in an enclosed space is four hours, not six.

Sorry, Chris.


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