Yesterday, I was on my way from one place to another, as people often are when they are traveling from point A to point B. Or B to C, or Z. Whatever. I had one of those fancy shmancy coffees from a local coffee shop with me. Me being who I am, I managed to break the cup and spill the coffee down the side of my car, splashing a bit onto my jeans and my probably not washable mittens. It happens, and should not surprise any that know me somewhat well.
There were a few guys getting into a nearby car. They looked vaguely familiar, likely because they probably graduated a year or two ahead of me from my high school. Anyway, they each said to me in turn, “Oh, that sucks,” or “Man, that sucks,” or “That really sucks,” or some variant thereof involving “that” and “sucks.” This is acceptable. Then, one of them says, “If that happened to me, I would kill someone.”
K bye.
I don’t cry over spilled milk. I also don’t cry over spilled coffee. Best yet, I don’t kill over spilled beverages of any sort.
