The Pony and I were sailing along one of the city back roads of Hillmomba this afternoon, having just done battle with the updated ATM in the back wall of the bank. Not being one to wait until I reached the safe confines of my counting house to count out my money, I did so in a church parking lot beside the bank. I started for home before I remembered to wash my hands with Germ-X. Paper money is rife with cocaine particles, you know. A kid did a study on that for an award-winning science project. We read about it at school a couple of years ago.
I keep a mini bottle of green-apple-scented Germ-X in my purse. I thought nothing of taking it out for a squeeze while driving. Hey! The speed limit was 30 mph. And this ain't my first disinfectant rodeo. The road was straight. I was merrily rubbing the alcoholic gel between my fingers when a pickup truck darted from a parking lot, across the oncoming lane in front of another truck, and into my lane scant feet in front of T-Hoe's bumper. "Would you look at that idiot!" I screamed it for the benefit of The Pony. He rides in the seat behind me, you know. Reading or typing up a story on his laptop. I didn't want him to miss the latest infraction.
Then I started to laugh. Maniacally, some might say. "Ha ha ha ha ha! Would you look at that idiot! Said the woman who was driving with no hands, sliming herself with Germ-X. Oh, the irony! It IS irony, isn't it?
"Oh, it's irony."
"I was never sure exactly what that meant."
"Which means you were born without an innate sense of irony."
Which is probably some kind of irony in itself, the fourteen-year-old Pony having to explain to his teacher mom what irony is.