Nothing Says Love Like A Shared Toad Moment

*** continued from previous post ***

Schedule or no schedule, the hand writing was on the wall. I'm no genius, but I can see that if we don't leave soon, this has the potential to cast a pall over the vacation. I don't want this to be remembered in my later years as "Frog Kill Trip", (Or toads . . whatever). I put an arm around Mom, share a toad moment with her, then casually pull her towards the bike. A couple of other cars have pulled into the Rest Stop as I steered Mom towards the Vision. Latte-slupin' hippie-girl is now cornering other travelers, going over the same story with each visitor. Some feign interest. Others are truly disturbed. One group of tall blond men, possibly a group of quintuplets, ignored her completely.

In a flash that sears my brain I realize that this girl is not a hippie. No, she is something far worse . . . she's an Emo-toadie. I can hear the plaintive wails of her song as she strums her guitar, bringing her gut-wrenching experiences to the dozen or so people that are either near death and unable to escape the coffee-shop couch, or, and this is a worst-case scenario, supportive of her art.

"I'm so sad for my toadie friends. Nobody loves them. Nobobdy loves them. Just like meeeeeeeeee....oh just like meeeeeeeeee. We all wind up as paste on the road of lifeeeeeee."

I swear to all that is holy, I'd hurl a day-old cruller at her head if I were to hear that song then burst my eardrums with a pencil for good measure.

Anyway, I manage to get Mom back on the bike, and with a wave and a hearty roll of the throttle I weave our way through Frog Fest 2008, (or Toad Fest . . . whatever), and manage to make it to the highway with nary a crunch neath our tires.

It takes us a few minutes to find our rhythm. But eventually, I clear my head of toads. I can feel mom behind me, cocooned in warty-green thoughts, relaxed and smiling. The air is clear, the sky is blue - although, it seems to be clouding up a bit to the north. Nothing to worry about I assure myself. Relaxed, refreshed, and rejuvenated the road rolls out before us like the tongue of a giant dog on a hot, hot day. But without the terrible smell. Or the spit.

So maybe not exactly like a giant, hot, dog-tongue but you get the picture.

I glance down at my new compadre, Sweet Alice, cradled on the dashboard of the Vision. Never tell your Mom - but my love for her grew by leaps and bounds as the miles ticked away. I love her. I love her so hard. Even if we have our little spats now and then, she fulfills my needs like no map ever could. Techno-lust pure and simple. What? Again with the 'I've never heard of 'techno-lust'? There's a complete page with references and annotations on Wikipedia. You can look it up. Wait . . . . . wait a second . . . . okay. There's one there now. Go educate yourself for goodness sakes.

Ah . . . good times . . . good times.

*** the journey continues tomorrow. Commenters will be forced to have a sex change procedure. ***