No Telling

Last week, as you know, the man and I were in Florida for Passover. One night, we drove down to Miami to see one of my good friends from college, Tits, and to spend the night at a hotel. We checked out The Standard, which was pretty cool.

I should note that as we were leaving his parent's house in Boynton Beach, the car keys were handed to me. You see, the man's parents had more confidence in my driving their car, then their own son. Which was fine by me, as I enjoy driving. Driving a '91 Buick...hmmm, not so sure.

Anyway, the drive down was uneventful despite the Friday night traffic. The hotel was great, the hotel bar at the new Setai hotel is the most incredible thing I have ever seen, and the weather rocked. It was unfortunate that our getaway was limited to less than 24 hours.

As we were leaving Miami on Saturday afternoon, I had a strong, sudden craving for Dairy Queen. Driving down Alton, I made a left on 15th street, and pulled into a mini parking lot. We quickly ran across the street to DQ, ordered our Blizzards or whatever they're called, and left. Only to find something missing in the parking lot.... his parents car.

I was dying. I thought the car was stolen. The man flagged down a cop car while I ran into the Dunkin Donuts next to the lot, to see if anyone saw anything. Turns out, the bastards in the city of Miami towed the car, because the lot I parked in was NOT for DQ patrons, but ONLY for the fatsos eating Pizza Hut and D&D.

Oh, I forgot to add that all our luggage was in the car.

The man and I trekked to the tow lot 7 blocks away (in silence as I felt that a joke at the time was somewhat inappropriate and might result in my walking back to Boynton Beach.) The car was there, and for $210, it was ours. That was, until I opened my big mouth and told the f*cker behind the counter that I was NOT paying as we were only gone from the car for 8 minutes, and we were going to go into D&D after DQ. That was not a smart move as the asshole then proceeded to tell me that we could only get the car back with a certified letter mailed from the man's father. Which would take 2 days. And clearly not an option.

The man took over immediately and did that thing that men do... that smooth talking thing (just as it works to get us in bed, it worked to get the car back.) Whew!

Although my DQ ice cream ended up costing me $217, I can laugh about this now. Sort of. But we are not telling his parents, so.... SHHHHH.