Crummy Kinda Clunky

She goes, “Clive you’re lost.”
I go, “I am not lost.”

It is our first date. I suggested the square ice-cream place.
A fella at work said something about it.

He went, “No, really, the friggin things are square.”

I am driving this crummy Citation.
There are no seat-belts. This fact does not set well with her.

“No seat-belts,” she goes, “This car has no seat-belts.”
“It is not my car,” I go, “I borrowed it for square ice-cream.”

It is a small corner of Idaho. Scenic I suppose.
She has her arms crossed. She is not interested in scenery.

“Pull over and ask directions,” she goes, “I need to know these things.”
“I will pull over and ask,” I go, “For directions.”

I swing the crummy clunky Citation into the lot of a Loaf-n-Jug.
The gal inside is pleasant.
“Oh sure,” she goes, “Just up the road, on the left.”

I hook a left just up the road.

She goes, “This is not funny.”
I go, “We are on the right road.”
She goes, “Take me home.”
I go, “Maybe the gal thought I said soft-serve.”


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