20 More Questions

2011 June 5

We’re waiting at (not in, not by) the car. I’m sitting in the back, wilting in the heat. He’s standing outside, eating an ice cream sandwich shaped like a fish, leaning forward so he doesn’t drip on his shirt. Improbably, there is country music on the radio. Something about pina coladas. He’s not listening to the lyrics or he would ask me to explain what a pina colada is. My job is the words. Write them, speak them, break them down into more familiar parts until they make sense. He says that I look like a rich lady and he looks like my driver. I tell him that rich ladies don’t get frustrated trying to figure out child safety locks.

He asks what kind of car I would want if I could have any car. I say that I don’t know. He persists. What kind? But not a Chevrolet. You can’t name a Chevrolet. I tell him that I don’t care about cars. Just something safe and fuel efficient. He sighs at my lack of imagination.

We play the question game a lot. I lose every time. I am too literal and I don’t embellish my answers enough. Where would you travel? What is the best kind of music? What is your favorite vegetable? That one, I passed. Finally. Yellow beans.

“Okay. Beans are okay. I like beans, too. “

Then, later, “That ice cream was not very good. What kind of ice cream do you like?”

Post to Twitter Post to Facebook Post to StumbleUpon

Related GenMeh goodness:

Make A Wish
When Push Comes To Shove
Another Year Older And Deeper In Fret