shriveled prunes

Sometimes you buy a car with peeling paint, and sometimes you decide to call that car "Pruny" because she's grey and wilted and looks like she could be a raisin. Sometimes you call her "Prunella" (those are when she is in trouble), but most of the time you call her "Prune-dog" because only cars that look like raisins are true gangsta cars.

And then sometimes the air conditioning dies and you call her all sorts of horrendously hotheaded names (none of which I will repeat here). And then all of the times you feel like a shriveled piece of dehydrated fruit with the windows rolled down and your face hanging out the window with your tongue panting and all of you feeling barking mad because it is so dang hot.

So then sometimes you buy a spray bottle and name it A.C. And then all of the times when you are driving you squirt it in your David's face and he likes it. And then sometimes at red lights he steals it and squirts it at you and you glare, not because you are wet, but because it evaporates in 0.0027 seconds. And all of the times you are frustrated at the sun and the oven-baked world because that is simply not enough time to feel like a re-hydrated plum. 

But sometimes (more often than not) you grin and bear it and squirt your David enough times that water is dripping down his nose. And all the times that image is happy, making all the ridiculousness caused by prunes evaporate faster than the blessed thought of a snowstorm in July.