We hopped into the car and I aimed it south toward home. In three hours, I’d be rid of Pickles. He’d go off to make someone else miserable. I’d have two glorious days off. Two days off to savor the little victory I’d won by restraining myself from snapping at him.
Then the unthinkable happened.
Pickles and I didn’t know it, but we were about to come face to face with Fate. Yes, I met Fate on Interstate 40 West. I can tell you that he looks horrific.
I was driving, Pickles was in the passenger seat. I was eager to get home and be rid of him. If I were to guess, I’d say that he felt the same way about me. I was at the limit of my tolerance for him. He had exceeded his quota of “well, actually” lectures. He was also at his limit for telling me what to do. Admittedly, two weeks of not expressing my irritation with him had made me unpleasant company.