Driving across the wide expanse of Wyoming today, I played games with myself. My favorite, "Guess the Road Kill" where I try to determine the former state of a blob of smushed flesh. Fur remnants offer clues - mostly deer, some raccoon and the occasional unlucky rodent.
Okay, I'm stalling. Fact is, I have some large-winged concerns fluttering around in my stomach. What if Denver doesn't like me? What if the mountains don't take me in? What if The Man takes one look at all the crap in my U-Haul, comes to his senses and ends it right there on the spot?
Well, anyway, it's too late now. I'm in. I'm done. I'm now a resident of Colorado. Crossing the state border today, I got a thrill - it's beautiful! Kinda like meeting the man your parents have arranged for you to marry and finding out he is a sweet-natured hottie.
I'll miss being on the road with Papa Clisby but can't say the same about the Whiskey Dews - Dad's nightly cocktail of Canadian Mist whiskey and Mountain Dew. Somehow, the caffeine, sugar and alcohol end up battling one another and no one really wins. Still, I drink 'em because...well, this is the kind of father-daughter bonding rituals that happen in the Clisby family. I prefer not to miss them.
1 comment:
"Whiskey Dews."
Wow, your Dad sounds like me, except for the screaming sissy part. If he was a screaming sissy too, we'd be virtually indistinguishable!
-Fang ("Not In The Face!") Bastardson
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