Will The Humiliation Never Stop?!

This week I've been driving Charlie over to the Trax Station so that he could meet his buddy from work and therefore save on gas. . .

I dropped him off at some ungodly hour, far too early for me, as I am consistently a night owl, to possibly be presentable. I've threatened him with his life if he even entertained the thought of making me say hi to his work buddy. . The plan was this: I would stealthily make my way up to the edge of the parking lot, and he would jump out and run toward Bruce's car, where of course he would be waiting, spry and ready for the day, further reinforcing my lack of self respect with consideration once again to my not being able to roll out of bed before 8 am.

Now I'm thinking that Charlie and Bruce are going to be riding Trax, like any sensible person would, down to the plant, so as to save money on gas-o-line. Not so. Evidently they just wanted to meet there, and then drive up together. Car pooling they called it. Why they would want to meet at a blinking Trax station, I couldn't figure out either. Ugh.

So here I am, thinking I'm out of danger, thinking I won't have to make conversation with Charlie's friends from work, while still in my mussed up hair/ponytail and jammies. I smiled to myself as I turned the car around, thinking I'd made it. I was safe. I pulled smugly into the turn lane and made a left, only to discover, to my great dismay, that Charlie and his buddy were there in the car next to me, turning onto the freeway heading south. Naturally the light turned red just at that moment, and we gingerly pulled to a stop. Sigh. And there I was. On display. The story of my life. Should I duck down in my seat, I thought to myself, and try to preserve what little dignity I have left, or should I hold very, very still, and pretend that I don't see them. Maybe they'll think I'm someone else. . .Well, we can always hope. . .

Argh! And so it goes. Once again, the story of my life. . . Sigh. I often ask myself. . Will the humiliation ever end?! Judging from past experience, I should just become a writer for a slapstick comedy of some kind and be done with it. At least we'd get paid for making people laugh. . .  : )