A couple walked in late to an event. She explained, "We're driving along, and he suddenly tears into a sharp right turn, screeching into a car lot. He had seen, through all the traffic and all the cars in the lot, a flash of red that was his old red Jaguar that he had traded in. You couldn't see it until you were up to it -- he saw it."
I said, "Maybe it wasn't that he saw it. Maybe the car saw him, and screamed Daaaddy!" He said, "That's exactly what happened. It called me." "So why did you trade it in?" The wife gave me a rundown on the injury to the car, so technical that I can't explain it. I would call it a "man thing about cars," but it was the woman who was enumerating the chain reaction that led to the pooling of all the gas out of the tank, and that thank G-d it wouldn't start up and had to be towed out of the garage because if it had turned over and sparked, the explosion would have taken the house down, too.
So did the dealer fix it? No, they are offering it as a shell to anyone who is a car tinkerer, and can put it together again.
"But," she went on, "that tiny speck of red he saw out of the corner of his eye. His oatmeal bowl in front of him on the table with the oatmeal dried to cement, that he never sees. I'll have to buy red car shaped bowls - maybe then he will notice it, and rinse it out in the sink.
OK, I can say it. The logic of women!
-- Florence
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