She Was Generous Enough To Give Me A Fat Ulcer

My sister needed to get fabric for sewing today so she asked me if I wanted to come with her. I thought about it, resolved that I had way too much work to do, and then went with her. She wondered if I minded if she drove? Yes, but sometimes you have to let them fly out of the nest even if you know they're gonna nose dive. She'll probably get mad when she reads this but whatever, YOU FUCKING STRESS ME OUT. I'm ridiculously inept at dealing with anxiety, I don't need more of it.

She drove as the rain pelted down, I told her to stop looking for CD's and focus on just the driving part, she looked for CD's. We talked about how I had just realized that Ben Harper was black after seeing a black guy on the cover of his CD. Oh right Carmen, that would be the artist himself. I don't know, I guess I thought he was a "soulfull" white guy; not that it ends up being relevant. I turned on the radio after I gave the verdict that all her CD's sucked, we listened to all those songs that you hate but then end up knowing all the words to. The songs that you hope will come on during your monotonous drive home because you wouldn't actually be caught dead listening to them, let alone downloading and burning them to a CD. Damn you Kelly Clarkson, I love to hate you but I gotta say, since you've been gone, I can breathe for the first time...

Before we went into the fabric store I anticipated the stereotypical grandmother-like workers with glasses that magnify their beady eyes, the token awkward teenage girl employee wearing a vest festooned with buttons and embroidery she obviously crafted herself, and some cracker jack buying the ugly fabric that has toasters and whisks strewn across it. The only reason I subjected myself to it all was because I have exams, and well, what else was I going to do? Study?

As we soon found out, the fabric portion of the store was no longer. We had driven, (well, she had driven) for half an hour just to look at ugly hand sewn old lady clothes. I sincerely wish that there had been fabric because that would have prevented my sister from trying to find Fabricana, and coincidentally getting us lost. When we were in the middle of suburbia, where every house looks too much like the last, I began to get worried. The gas light came on as a polite little reminder that possibly, perhaps, it would be in our best interest to get some gas and avoid getting fucked over. I kind of think that light should be in the shape of a person with a gun to their head and the words "Try it," instead of the ghetto gas pump that doesn't even exist anymore. Yeah, that might be a little more honest. I refrained from telling her that the light had never actually gone on before on flat ground.

I guess I should put our little trip into perspective though; we didn't run over any kids, I only had to remind her once or twice that yes she had the right of way and no that car didn't have a stop sign, and we actually made it to a gas station. Since the gas station was all full serve, my sister rolled down her window and tried to tell the attendant how to open the gas gauge. I gave an exasperated sigh, got out of the car, and did it myself. When I got back in she asked me why I did it myself.

"Well Megan, it's not very easy to explain to someone that they need the keys not to unlock the gas tank, but to shove in the hinge and force open the broken release. That might confuse some people."

"Oh."