...a friend of mine wanted to know could he use my pickup while I was gone so he might gather some firewood and I said sure you can only don't go getting drunk and driving my truck like a damned fool..."I won't."
Fast forward two days, I'm coming home a day early and it is after dark on a very snowy night, roads are treacherous, four inches of wet snow has piled up and those few of us on the road are anxious to be home.
As I come slowly down the steep and slippery South Acworth Hill Rd. about fifty yards above Michael and Lillie's house, suddenly from across the intersection my truck comes ripping around the corner streaking toward the store and my friend who is driving like a wildman, tires spinning, engine screaming, fishtailing side to side sending up a rooster tail of snow, is hammeredAND - I can't believe my eyes!- trailed by a flat-bottomed boat tied to the bumper on a long rope like a water skier and in this little pram Danny is sitting facing aft with a bottle in one hand (probably rotgut Schaefer) and holding on to the oarlock with the other, the two of 'em yahooing their way to the store before it closes so they can grab another case of beer they obviously do not need, and in my truck.
I say nothing and go home; they hadn't even seen me and next day when my truck is returned with BIG dents in the rear fender my friend dismisses it with '"Well, sorry, but it was really snowing and icy and I just slid off the road in slow motion..."
I haffta laff. Slow motion? Please...that little boat came around the corner like the last kid in 'crack-the-whip' on ice skates.