My husband is a very friendly guy. I’m not just saying that because he reads this and I need to say nice things about him. He really is friendly. Consequently, he will speak to any human being within earshot.
Actually, most of the time, they speak to him first. He’s a people magnet, which is strange, because he looks kind of mean. He’s a fairly large man, with giant bear paws and trucker forearms (that’s right ladies, trucker forearms).
I prefer to remain in his wake and be a bystander to his many conversations on the road. I don’t have the social prowess he does, I inevitably say something weird and make an ass of myself. I’m sure after meeting us a lot of people wonder why such a nice guy is married to “that weird chick.”
Once in a while, I have no choice other than to respond or participate, and I try my best to do so in an appropriate manner. We were at a company terminal in Dallas, my husband had some paperwork to scan and I was scoping out the showers. We agreed to meet at the smoke pit, and I finished before him.
There were several guys in the pit, all talking about medical conditions. I hung towards the back, and sat quietly waiting. One of them turned around and nodded his head towards me, I responded in the same manner.
“You got a gall bladder?”
“You mean like, an extra one? Or the one I was born with?”
“I mean, you got a gall bladder? Inside of ya? One that works?”
I had never been asked this before. Not even by a doctor.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve got one. Unless the aliens took it in Minnesota. Ha ha!”
Dead silence and not even a trace of a smile.
“I don’t know about no aliens, but I was told my gall bladder is going bad. Gotta have it out.”
“Well the last thing you want is a rotten gall bladder. Lord knows they get stinky when they rot. Haha!”
Complete and utter silence. Now everyone in the group had turned to look at me. Super. They continued to stare as I pretended to become completely fixated on my right index finger cuticle. As he often does, my husband walked up in time to save me from having a nervous breakdown.
“That your wife, man?”
My poor husband. He’s known me long enough to be slightly uneasy when asked that question.
“Well she’s somethin’ else, buddy, I tell ya’”
“That’s a good way to put it, driver. A real good way to put it.”
On March 18, Weddle’s trailer crossed over the centerline of the highway, ...