//THAT GIRL’S A REAL TRIP//
Writing the entry below about tornadoes reminded me about a girl I worked with at the grocery store. Actually, I remembered several girls I used to know (that dumb Julio Iglesias song would only apply to a few ... I didn’t love them all).
Michelle ... so pretty in an unfussy way. A vibrant smile. Eyes bluer than a fresh blue crayon. She hated makeup, but didn’t really need to wear it anyway. Her hair was always in a perpetual state of confusion. In a word, she was hot.
She was also very very clumsy. And she’d be the first one to tell you this. Her testimony:
* When mopping the floor, she had to use ammonia rather than bleach because when she was younger, she drank bleach. Yes, a glass full of Clorox. Not sure if it was on the rocks or not.
* She volunteered at a library while in elementary school, and so was given the chance to be in her town’s Christmas parade. Somehow she got run over by the Santa Claus float. Yes, Michelle, there is a Santa Claus ... so get out of the way!
* She smoked, but the element of fire in her hands was much more dangerous than any cancer risk. She told me she had SET MORE THAN ONE CAR ON FIRE because she dropped a lit cigarette into the map pockets on the doors. More than one, as in two.
* In the breakroom one time, she had bought a bag of peanuts to snack on. After a good 30 seconds of trying to open the bag, she ripped it with great force, spilling a cascade of nuts all over the place.
She (thankfully) did not have a car at the time and asked a bunch of us if one would be willing to drive her home. I considered it briefly (she had a pack of cigarettes in her hand at the time), but decided my car was worth more than being a gentleman that day. I think most of us had heard her recount the car-burning story.
She started dating the guy who finally volunteered. His pickup was old enough that the door panels were metal.
