Buying drinks on the fly

Okay. Maybe it IS me. I have passionately argued for years that I am relatively normal...just askew enough to be interesting but not too tilted to cause people to actually consider treatment. I've been convinced that the people around me are a tad off-kilter which makes my behavior occasionally appear questionable. But in the grand Me Versus The World Bonkos Battle...I believe I may be slipping a little.

A group of us had gone on a little outing and, as our evening together was coming to a close, my friend Sondra complained she was thirsty. The carload of women immediately went into overdrive to find a store to meet this need. Except for me. "Sondra," I frowned, "we're ten minutes from home." Kelly, who is factual to the point of my wanting to tackle her, said, "Actually, we are precisely fourteen minutes from my house." As Sondra was seated between Kelly and I so I wouldn't be able to get a firm enough grip around Kelly's neck, I concentrated on the middle man...woman. "Can't you wait until we get back," I asked. Of course, she said yes, large doe eyes solemnly willing to make the sacrifice while the remaining passengers treated me with the hostility that millions of "Bambi" fans have directed at the hunter.

So we pulled into a gas station and everyone piled out. "Wait...we're all going in because Sondra needs a drink," I yelled in disbelief. Apparently, not only were we ensuring that Sondra wouldn't dehydrate fourteen minutes from her house but, as a symbol of solidarity, we would all buy beverages as well. I stomped into the store. There was no way that I was going to get a drink. I admit that my pulse quickened as I passed the Pepsi but I stayed strong. "What on earth are you doing," I asked my friend Geri as she inspected the Slushie machine. "Do you think they'd let me buy half a Slushie," she wondered. Bright colors tucked into a tiny corner caught my eye. Tiny flyswatters. Tiny flyswatters with an expandable handle. Tiny flyswatters with an expandable handle discounted fifty percent. Tiny flyswatters with an expandable handle discounted fifty percent for an amazing end cost of forty-nine cents. "What on earth are you doing," my friend Geri asked me, holding a half-a-cup of Slushie. "How much would it cost to get every one of my fourth graders a tiny flyswatter with an expandable handle," I wondered, digging through my pockets. "Wouldn't that make a wonderful end-of-year gift?" Geri's look of disgust (She later claimed that her look was actually the result of a brain-freeze from her half-a-cup of Slushie) convinced me that one tiny flyswatter with an expandable handle was sufficient.

Satisfied, we all piled back into the vehicle, clutching our beverages and flyswatter. As I happily held my tiny flyswatter with the expandable handle, I actually wondered if maybe I was starting to lose my grip on reality. Is my life a joke? Five women walk into a gas station. Four walk out with beverages and one carries a tiny flyswatter with an expandable handle. Is it me?