My name is Erika and I am addicted to
the Mocha Frappés at McDonald's. It's not a healthy addiction by any
means (I'm pretty sure there's crack in those suckers) but this morning
that unhealthy addiction nearly got me killed.
You see, the power of suggestion is
great. It is far greater than the power of my will. So when Sugar
Daddy said "Hey, you should take my car and go get us a couple of those
Mochy Frappy things from Mickey D's", I said, "Ye-OKAY" and guffawed
like Goofy as I grabbed his keys and headed out the door.
WHEE! Mocha bliss was on its way!
Few things have the power to upset me
when I've been promised chocolatey, blended happiness, but you can
imagine my chagrin when I looked in the rear-view mirror and spied a
burgundy Bonneville barreling down Locust Street toward my bumper.
It became apparent that I could be
rudely introduced to my maker if the driver didn't press her dainty
piggies down hard on the brake pedal, and pronto.
The scene that played out in the front
seat of that Bonneville was a short one, as I was viewing it entirely in
fast forward, but I'll relay the gist of it: Crazy Girlfriend is angry
at Wrong and Stupid Boyfriend. Crazy wants Wrong and Stupid to see
just how crazy-angry she is at his incredible wrongness and unfathomable
stupidity by threatening to take both of their lives in a fiery
high-speed crash, ejecting her crazy-angry self and his wrong and stupid
self into the back of my car at speeds that could launch a rocket into
Thankfully, Crazy veered off to the
left, passing my car and moving on to threaten Wrong and Stupid's life
on the car in the next lane. And she didn't stop there. As soon as
there was one car-length between us, she changed lanes again. Crazy
continued the lane change, accelerate, hard brake, lane change pattern
speeding down the road like KITT from Knight Rider (with all the lunacy,
but only half the badass) until she was out of sight.
And that's how I almost became the
victim of vehicular homicide this morning. Yup. I didn't die though.
I'm here! I lived to make a vague implication about my brush with death
on Facebook and now I'm here to blog about it for you people. Aren't
What do you mean that's not a brush with death?
When that woman charged at me like an angry bull in a four-door sedan, I saw my life flash before my eyes (primarily the
un-caffeinated, boring parts) as I faced the unhappy prospect of being
denied a blended coffee drink. Are you telling me that doesn't count?
*sips mocha frappé*
(If this made you smile, please share it with a friend.)