My name is Erika and I am addicted to the Mocha Frappés at McDonald's. It's not a healthy addiction by any means (I'm pretty sure there's crack in those suckers) but this morning that unhealthy addiction nearly got me killed.
You see, the power of suggestion is great. It is far greater than the power of my will. So when Sugar Daddy said "Hey, you should take my car and go get us a couple of those Mochy Frappy things from Mickey D's", I said, "Ye-OKAY" and guffawed like Goofy as I grabbed his keys and headed out the door.
WHEE! Mocha bliss was on its way!
Few things have the power to upset me when I've been promised chocolatey, blended happiness, but you can imagine my chagrin when I looked in the rear-view mirror and spied a burgundy Bonneville barreling down Locust Street toward my bumper.
It became apparent that I could be rudely introduced to my maker if the driver didn't press her dainty piggies down hard on the brake pedal, and pronto.
The scene that played out in the front seat of that Bonneville was a short one, as I was viewing it entirely in fast forward, but I'll relay the gist of it: Crazy Girlfriend is angry at Wrong and Stupid Boyfriend. Crazy wants Wrong and Stupid to see just how crazy-angry she is at his incredible wrongness and unfathomable stupidity by threatening to take both of their lives in a fiery high-speed crash, ejecting her crazy-angry self and his wrong and stupid self into the back of my car at speeds that could launch a rocket into space.
Thankfully, Crazy veered off to the left, passing my car and moving on to threaten Wrong and Stupid's life on the car in the next lane. And she didn't stop there. As soon as there was one car-length between us, she changed lanes again. Crazy continued the lane change, accelerate, hard brake, lane change pattern speeding down the road like KITT from Knight Rider (with all the lunacy, but only half the badass) until she was out of sight.
And that's how I almost became the victim of vehicular homicide this morning. Yup. I didn't die though. I'm here! I lived to make a vague implication about my brush with death on Facebook and now I'm here to blog about it for you people. Aren't you glad?
What do you mean that's not a brush with death?
When that woman charged at me like an angry bull in a four-door sedan, I saw my life flash before my eyes (primarily the un-caffeinated, boring parts) as I faced the unhappy prospect of being denied a blended coffee drink. Are you telling me that doesn't count?
*sips mocha frappé*
(If this made you smile, please share it with a friend.)