Pigs flying. Hell freezing over. Me riding public transportation.
Only one of those things involves me sitting on a sticky bus seat next to a guy who smells like he last showered when Dawson’s Creek was still on TV, so I’m only truly afraid of one of those scenarios. (Although I don’t love the idea of pigs overhead -- pigeons are bad enough.) And yet, I was pretty close to living that nightmare after Eve smashed up my car. I mean, she gets behind the wheel once and hits something? I only hit something like once every five or six times, tops, and I always aim for soft, non-denty things when it comes to that. And I totally and heartfeltily apologized to Mrs. Lancaster.
I’d do anything to stay off the Dirty 30. That’s what we call the public bus line that runs by our school. FYI, it’s not just a clever rhyme. And then I guess I just start carrying around a bus pass? Gross! What’s next -- hopping a train to Kansas for the Old-Timey Music Festival? As someone who would someday like to make out with Leo DiCaprio and Adrian Grenier I want to do everything I can for the environment, but I won’t be in the right frame of mind to save the earth if I’m all yucky from the bus.
So needless to say, I was this close to selling Eve down the river and just telling Dad she stole my keys. I mean, how could she not know how to drive a car? She’s never watched TV? You just talk on the phone with one hand on the wheel and then you waggle it back and forth. That’s like, it. They say she’s the coordinated one, and that’s too hard for her? Maybe next year I’ll try out for basketball!
Just kidding. I’ve seen those uniforms.