Ship This!

I think most of my epiphanies come through while driving. Not me, personally, driving. Wow, how terrifying a thought is that?
No, while on the road, looking through my mirrored sunglasses at the wide, wide world, all the flatlands and hilly bits and jumpy abandoned barns.
Most lately, I've decided to boycott 18 wheelers. Why, you ask? Because I feel contrary, that's why. And because they're very large, diesel-slurping cogs upon which the machine of the system rotates goods all round this great nation of ours. Ladies and gentlefiends, I see a Wal-Mart truck coming toward me, but that doesn't matter.
Doesn't matter at all.
Do you know why?
Because.
There's this little boy. He's going camping with his sisters. But that's all right, because he has his little sleeping area, and in it there's a little mattress. It's dark blue, with rockets and planets and aliens, and even stars, but not those girly pink stars. These are orange and cool. You won't find rainbows or winged ponies here, and his sisters will leave it alone. Because it's a boy cot.
And that's why the Wal-Mart truck can cease to exist for all I damned well care.
~
I also just had a great deal of pizza. Three lovely slices, with a buttery, thin crust that flakes in your mouth and, just when you'd love for it to stay there, disappears. And get this: my feet hurt.
Yes. They do, they do.
Again, this doesn't matter, because I have a roasty, toasty little hotel bed to slip into, with lots of pillows which, at some point during the night, will end up on the carpet. And my toes shall be happy and squirm in delight.
Admit it, that makes your toes want to squiggle, too, doesn't it?