We’ve been in Texas all week – well, the major portion of it, anyway. Texas is the only state I know of that you can drive around for a month and never see all of it. I’m always impressed with the vastness of it, especially when you get out on 35 down near the border. You can look for miles and see nothing but the forty thousand border patrol cop cars parked in various shady places, keeping our borders safe by asking every person they meet, “Are you a U.S. citizen?” I can’t tell you how safe I feel, knowing this pertinent question is posed to any unaffiliated people who may cross the border illegally.
“Are you and the passenger U.S. citizens?”
“OK, have a nice day.”
“But wait a minute, aren’t you supposed to send me back or something?”
“Actually, I’ve never had anyone answer ‘no’, so I really don’t know what to do. Have a nice day.”
I realize it’s probably easier for us, both light skinned and blue eyed, with Illinois tags on the truck. We probably don’t raise much alarm for the beleaguered agents. But isn’t that racial profiling? Can I sue someone here, ’cause I’m about tired of working for a living. Kidding!! My job could hardly be called work anymore. Also, I think lawsuits are grossly overrated. I prefer to bitch incessantly and leave the law out of it. When you hire an attorney, you pay someone to bitch for you and what fun is that? Heaven knows I don’t need any help in the crabbing department, especially if I have to pay someone to do it.
It’s been warm and muggy in Texas this week. I was warned on the way down that I really shouldn’t complain about the weather, since I made a career of griping about the winter of death we just went through. I agreed, but completely forgot about the deal I made the first morning I woke up soaked in sweat because it was baking hot at 8 a.m. on the Mexican border.
“Oh my God, it’s hot!”
“I’m going to pretend like you didn’t say that.”
“OK, sorry, but we are getting showers today, right?”
“Babe, I do my best to park my princess at a shower every day.”
“Yeah, but today it’s really important, because I smell like Kareem Abdul Jabar after a long game.”
“Wow. That was random. Is that guy even still alive? Have you ever really smelled him? I’m actually afraid of the answer, so maybe we shouldn’t go there.”
“No, I’ve never smelled him. But the pictures of him after a game look like he smells awful. Here, let me find one for you on the internet.”
“It’s OK, babe. I don’t need to see a sweaty basketball player to get the point. You want a shower and you’ll get one if it’s humanly possible.”
“You’re my hero.”
“Just doing my job, ma’am.”
I love that guy.