A pterodactyl caught between a rock and a hard place

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Long hours of driving across Indiana (four freaking times) initiate odd conversations. When you’ve seen the same highway for the thousandth mile, there ceases to be things to comment on, and you have to make your own magic.

“What would you rather have: wings or opposable thumbs?”

“Would I be a bird, or just a guy with wings?”

“This isn’t ‘Jeopardy.’ We don’t answer a question with a question, Alex.”

“I want both.”

“That would make you a pterodactyl. Pterodactyl is not a choice.”

“I guess I’d want wings, I’ve always wanted to be able to fly.”

“Wrong answer. Opposable thumbs are always better.”

“I wasn’t aware there were incorrect answers.”

“Okay, so if you had the choice between having a beautiful wife who was mean as hell or a not-so-hot wife who was always nice to you, which would you choose?”

“What’s not-so-hot mean?”

“Dammit man, I’m the one asking the questions here.”

“I’d want a nice wife.”

“Are you insinuating that you don’t currently have a nice wife?”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“Oh. So now I’m ugly and mean.”

“Well I’m a pterodactyl. We should get along just fine.”

“I’ll speak to you again when we get to Chicago.”

“We’re traveling away from Chicago.”


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