Hard Top
Twice in two days, that is once one day and then once again a separate succeeding day. Two convertibles come up this rain washed gravel driveway. Sightseers. Nothing to see folks, move along. The second convertible was a hard top. You push an unassuming button on the console between the seats. The trunk opens up and there is the imagined whirring of gears and machinery, cranks and levers operated manually by thousands of miniature bad children, those children who did not do what their parents said they ought. Occasionally there is the lopped off finger of the daydreamer. I am sitting in the drivers seat with the door open. Nothing is happening. Mr BC is out on the passenger side, doors and windows closed and he is giving me detailed instructions of which I hear not a peep. Finally I get out and say Hello? Do you not understand that when you buy this German engineering there are costs? You can't stand out there talking and think someone inside can hear you like they could if this were a 1972 Chevy Nova. No, not even if they have their door open on the opposite side. I did not hear a word you said. Perhaps your son could get in here and show us how it works. And he did and the top came down and Mr. BC climbed into the back seat with the agility of a grown man climbing into the back seat of a convertible. I have at least temporary full rotation of the neck and waist and so am able to twist around and move out from under his feet the hard hat and 20 pounds of Nikon camera. Driving around Rappahannock County, driving slow after eating that pizza, not so good but which I am now finishing for breakfast, looking for that opportunity to see what happens when you...go 20 to 70 in was that two seconds? I have a grand idea. After we gas up I am, instead of driving myself home and bidding BC and son adieu, going to keep driving. Hey dad would you tell this guy I have school tomorrow. The sun is just setting. Highway signs are whizzing by. There is no direction only forward momentum. No really Jim, I have that seminar in Florida tomorrow afternoon, we can do this another time. So there aren't airports in Chicago? Relax. Let's break this baby in. You don't even have any beer stains on these leather seats yet.
The second convertible, this the one on the second day, comes up spinning gravel in a way that means trouble. I wait for it to quickly leave so I don't have to use cuss words. To quote the famous Irish philosopher, ewww people. But it was Mr. BC, having made the driveway loop up at the Bighouse now parked down the hill in my driveway. I haven't seen him in awhile. Hey, when'd you get that? Couple of days ago he answered.
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