Greg and I went out to dinner Thursday night. When we arrived at the restaurant, it was Happy Hour, so Greg pondered whether he should order a Guinness. Greg hardly ever drinks beer, especially when we go out to dinner because he’s usually our designated driver. I encouraged him to get the Guinness and told him I would drive home.
We ordered our dinners — and I need to pause here to tell you that Greg ordered his strangest dinner in recent memory. A chipotle grilled cheese, a giant cinnamon peach pancake, and the bottle of Guinness. It became even weirder when the waitress brought out the food and had put the grilled cheese and the pancake on the same giant platter. We finished our meal, shared a slice of pie, and paid the check. As Greg paid, I glanced out the window and saw a bolt of lightning spike across the sky.
Some of you might remember a previous post about my driving glasses. Well, I don’t drive so well at night as I have no glasses to wear, and on top of that I just don’t see well in the dark. But I could have gotten us home safely. Until I saw that thunderstorm. I am terrified of storms. I hate the crackle and boom of thunder and prefer to spend thunderstorms buried under the covers in bed, my fingers in my ears.
I asked Greg if he was SURE he wanted me to drive. I’m pretty certain a drunken driver can handle a car better in a storm than I can. It’s difficult to drive when you’re constantly pulling your hands away from the wheel to plug your ears. And Greg wasn’t drunk. Greg convinced me I could handle the driving, but as we hustled out to the car beneath the electric sky, I called out to him, “This is the last time you ever order a beer in a restaurant!”
On the drive home, we did the only reasonable thing that could be done in our situation. We turned up the radio and sang at the top of our lungs to drown out the thunder. We arrived home safely to find Winston hiding under the couch. If I were a little smaller, I would have crawled under there and hunkered down with him.