Up Next...Another Episode of Bill-Paying Friday, Starring Val Thevictorian and Her Mom

Friday, Friday, FRIDAY!

I told Mom I'd meet her by the park, and swoop her up to ride along for bill-paying this afternoon. She was game. My mom was born game! She had nothing else to do. She got out early yesterday to lay in a supply of slaw for the three-day weekend. Can't go risking a slaw shortage over the holiday.

Murphy was my copilot today. Murphy. Of the law fame. I stopped off at the credit union to put in the monthly allotment for The Pony's college fund. A friend and classmate of Genius was working. He grabbed my receipt as it printed out on a printer so old it had those little hole things along the edge for a tractor thingy to feed it through. Being a bit like Genius, and of the same no-patience, instant gratification, cutting-edge-technology world...Clerky grabbed the top of that receipt to hurry it along. Except that receipt was for the customer at the other window, and mine was still attached and printing. I had a smear on the bottom line that I could not read, and a shark-teeth-smile chunk out of the bottom edge.

"WHAT? You ruined my receipt!"

"Oh, c'mon. You know you're just going to throw it away."

"Um. You were in my class for a whole year. You know how I operate. That's a big deal to me."

"Yeah. I should have known you're going to save it. Sorry."

I was pulling his leg a bit. But not by much. I guess I'll get over it. I picked up Mom at the park and headed for the bank. Just the ATM. I did my Genius-depositing yesterday, because I knew there would be long lines today. As there were. The Pony and I had a bit of an adventure on the way to get Mom. The car in front of us slammed on the brakes to make a left turn across two lanes of traffic. As The Pony said, "The driver in the car he cut in front of...was like you. Yelling. And he gave the finger, too." Let the record show that Val does not give the finger.

The Pony wanted Rally's for supper. He's spending the night with his grandma. So after making a payment at the savings and loan, we grabbed his food and headed to the real purpose of our trip: THE FROZEN CUSTARD STAND. Mom insisted on a toddler cone. She says it's just right. As if she's Goldilocks. I opted for a concrete made with chocolate custard and chocolate chips. It was breathtaking.

When Mom rides in the passenger seat, she throws a monkey wrench into my routine. My purse has to move to the back floor by The Pony, and my giant yellow bubba cup of ice water must balance precariously over the hole of a regular-size cupholder between the seats. I use the other cupholder to harbor my concrete. However, when I first get it, I set it on the top of the console to let it melt down a little, so I don't get the sticky stuff above the rim on my fingers when I pick it up. Mom can hardly contain herself. No concrete shall ride unattended while SHE'S my copilot! Never mind that it has not once tipped over when I am by myself and have no helping mom-hand.

So...we were pulling out, making a left as the flow of traffic allowed, and Mom was slurping her toddler vanilla with her right hand, and holding onto my concrete with her left. As I gassed T-Hoe to Frogger my way along the road until my next left, my bubba cup tipped to-and-fro like a badly beaten Bobo doll. Mom gave that auditory inhale that is her trademark in panic situations. I grabbed the bubba cup with my right hand to steady it, turning T-Hoe's wheel with my left like I had a 1950s suicide knob.

"I'm sorry, Mom, but you're going to need to sprout a third arm before I can bring you on a trip like this again."

"Oh, don't get me tickled!"

That's kind of her trademark, too.

We took a shortcut through the Lowe's parking lot, where a family of five pointedly avoided the crosswalk to jaywalk diagonally from parking lot to door. It was all I could do to avoid them, what with driving on the wrong side of the road to maneuver around a red minivan parked facing the wrong way in my traffic lane. I wended my way out of that rat-maze to a residential street, and was promptly tailgated by a diesel pickup towing a race car trailer.

"I'm kind of glad that truck just turned. I was afraid it was that race driver who runs over people who anger him. Hey! Pony! Tell Grandma about our town experience, where that guy used inappropriate hand gestures."

"A car cut in front of two others to get to Domino's. That guy was yelling just like Mom does."

"Oh, I can't wait until YOU start driving! You'll have plenty to say. Or else people will be saying them about YOU!"

"No they won't, Pony. I'm sure you'll be a very safe driver." Said Mom. As if she knows. Never having seen him almost take out the side of the BARn in a go-cart.

By now we were on a straight stretch of road from one outer road to another. It's about a half mile, across an overpass, nary a view-obstructor in sight. Two pickups were parked on the shoulder as we turned, with two guys chest-to-chest having a discussion. All at once, the wiry guy pointed three fingers right in the face of the stocky guy. I think they were having a disagreement, because the wiry guy spun around and stalked back to his pickup. Mom said I should have pulled over to watch.

"What? This is not a barbershop parking lot." Mom was in the middle of asking me if Hick would be going to get another haircut tomorrow morning when it happened.

Halfway to the next turn, as I was driving along at the speed limit, on my own side of the road, minding my T-Hoe business, a little silver SUV shot out like a heat-seeking missile from the side road on the left. SHOT OUT! And almost T-BONED my T-HOE! The front right bumper of that ballistic missile came within inches of my driver door. Thank goodness I swerved to the right shoulder. But you know what the kicker was?

THAT MANIAC HAD THE NERVE TO HONK AT ME!

Seriously. Since when does the car about to smash into your side honk at YOU? I was lawfully proceeding from Point A to Point B, nary a curve, nary a road sign to block the view. I have no idea what that maniac was thinking. That I had a stop sign, maybe? Don't know. But Maniac sat for a moment sideways in the oncoming lane, then pulled out and followed me at a considerable distance.

"Did you see that? What in the world? I can't believe that! Good thing my concrete was unharmed. Did you see that, Pony?"

"Yeessss. I'm surprised you didn't go on about it like you always do."

"WHAT? I was NOT in the wrong!"

"I know. I never said you were in the wrong. But sometimes I think you go too far complaining about things. And you didn't hardly say anything about THAT, compared to what you say about nothing."

"Yeah. Well. That Maniac is crazy. Must have been texting. Look how far back. I can hardly see the driver. Yeah. Must be a girl texting. Or else an old lady with really scraggly bleached hair, in which case she must be demented, and most likely dehydrated as well."

When the Maniac caught up at a stop sign, I could see a little better. And when the Maniac decided, after sitting four cars back at the light, to suddenly veer into the right turn outlet, I deduced that the Maniac was a middle-aged drunk.

Whew! A crash would not bode well for Val Thevictorian. Her thin blood would have flowed like water from a wide-open fireplug spigot.

Does anybody have a thread-puller? Life's Rich Tapestry has a flaw that needs to be unraveled.