Thursday, January 26, 2012

There are worse ways to go, I suppose.

So, I'm yawning and driving home from Disney on Ice last night, listening to Corinne and her friend giggle their blond heads off about, oh, everything. I couldn't help laughing at their discussions about gas and bodily functions (girls really can be just as gross as boys). And then it became a competition about everything from who had the most fun to who could yell the loudest (a tie) to who was the most tired.

"I'm sooooo tired!"
"No, I'm sooooo tired!"
"I'm more tired!"

Giggle. Giggle. Tee-hee.

"I'm so tired, I think I'll take a nap right now," I interjected at the steering wheel.

"Ok!" said the friend, "You can just scootch over and I'll drive and if a policeman pulls me over and says 'lemme see your license' I'll show him your license. And if he says 'This doesn't look like you' I'll just tell him that I've had some work done recently!"

And I died from the laughter that burst from my gut.

Right there. Death from laughing.

There are definitely worse ways to go.
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