Karma owns me again…
Revenge of Karma
I scoffed at this crazy bitch and rightly so, because:
- I said it, so it must be right; and
- it’s about a fucking truck.
Years ago, I proved gravity does seem to be a plausible theory by flinging a golf ball at the sky and divoting the trunk of a ’77 Mercury Monarch that closely resembled the one my dad drove (being that it was parked in my driveway and all).
(No crazy bitch ran ME down for that, btw.)
So, yesterday, el wifey comes home in an ’05 Exploder (due to the attack of the semi). After dinner I get to wedge this monumental wideass with a 10 foot long hood into the garage. Without, you know, hitting walls, shelves, bikes, stacks of wife/kid crap in my garage. Or my car. Before I can even get out, my ever helpful monkey helps me by kicking the back door open to get herself out. Into my little speedmobile.
Wifey laughs it off. It’s my fault for only leaving a couple of feet between cars. (As opposed to not leaving her room to get out her door.)
Find beer. Repeat…
Wifey thinks she wants one of these bastards when the Jeep lease is up. Karma says I don’t fucking think so….