That used to be my favourite song to listen to while driving with my dad in his old truck. I thought the plush red seats were so fancy, even though they were coated in logging road dust. Dad always had a thermos of tea, and I would pour us both a mug and share it for the duration of the trip. Driving with Mom, there always had to be some conversation occurring, but with Dad we could just enjoy the silence. I think I take after him more than I realize sometimes.
I just finished eating a deee-lish dinner of steamed spinach/tomato stuff over a bed of warm lemon potatoes. Except that I didn't think when adding the lemon juice to the potatoes and threw in a couple of tablespoons of milk as well. Oops. Anyway, it turned out fine.
My landlady came home to find that her husband had bought her a new pair of shoes and thrown out the old ones. She found it hysterically funny and laughed her head off while I just stared at her in amazement. If that has happened to me, I would have gone on the warpath, with the battle cry being Don't Touch My Shit. Probably why her marriage has lasted and I've been told that I'll end up dying alone.
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