I have run out of coffee. I've run out of a lot of things in this past week, but I've not had any time to go grocery shopping. Momma's cupboards are bare, that's all I'm sayin'. And so, this morning was day three of running to the Circle K to buy over-priced, albeit, tasty coffee in order for me to face the evils of this day ... or a less melodramatic take on it, in hopes of me fully waking and managing my daily routine.
As I was walking back to my truck after having purchased a 24 oz. Hazelnut blend, I noticed a dude filling up his Toyota. It had a vanity plate that read: SEX INSTRUCTOR.
Dear Readers -- it's at this point in the story that I must pause and explain to you just how hard I find it sometimes to NOT audibly comment on the ridiculousness of this world. When I was a child, my mother had to BRIBE me, nay, threaten me within an inch of my life because I was constantly making the thoughts in my head public. You know, like the time I informed my mother and EVERYONE in the mall restroom with us that "GEEZ LOUISE, CINDY* (a woman our family had HAS GOTTEN HUGE!!!"
After my mother regained her color, she nearly squeezed the life out of me while explaining that not everything that pops into our heads needs to be made known to the world.
I suppose that's why I blog ... and Tweet ... and Facebook now. I can make known the inane thoughts that pop into my head.
At any rate, it took everything that I had within me not to yell to the sex instructor, "YEAH RIGHT!!! SAYS WHO!?"
See, here's my take on it:
If you've got to ADVERTISE that sort of thing, chances are, you don't have the first clue what sex is, let alone how to instruct anyone on it. In fact, I'm relatively sure that you have a very skewed view of your abilities, if you know what I mean.
*names have been changed to protect the innocent and not so innocent.