It's not as gross as it sounds.
A few months ago I was on a road trip and had stopped to get gas. I'm sitting in my car talking to the guy pumping my gas and I'm refilling my coffee mug with coffee from my thermos and then for some unknown reason (brain tumor? Parkinson's?) I completely pour almost the entire contents all over the front of my shirt. It ran down my front into the crotch of my pants and soaked into the seat of my car. It was hot. It was humiliating. It was... typical.
I thank God for the old man pumping my gas. He pretend as though my white shirt was not soaked in coffee and just went along checking the pressure of my front tire (it was fine, I told him it would be, can't I just tuck my tail between my legs and leave?) Even if the pressure had been low I would have been like "Forget this! I'm outta here." It would have been death by car accident or death by embarrassment.
So I peeled out of there and started driving. My shirt was soaked, my undershirt was soaked, my pants were soaked, my underwear were soaked. Then I remembered a playground in the town I was driving through. I remembered there was a bathroom there. I remembered hardly ever were there people there. So I took a little detour. Got a change of clothes out of my suitcase and changed my clothes in the completely empty bathroom of the playground. Then I put down the towel I always keep in my car on my seat. Always keep a towel in your car. Right, Katie? Then I gathered together what was left of my dignity and coffee and headed back out on the road. And then I laughed. And then I vowed never to go to that gas station again. Which is a bummer because they have a really clean bathroom.
I'm packing. More on that later. Here's what is going on outside my kitchen window:
It's a beautiful day. I wouldn't know though because I got my head in a box.