Here’s what happened. We were on our way to dinner when we drove the car through the flooded roadway. I knew we shouldn’t but once started was committed to seeing it through. The water reached the lower part of the car doors as we plowed through. A bulge grew off the front bumper and a wake spread out behind us.
“You’re telling it wrong.” she said. “You forgot the most important part. We had friends in the car with us.”
“I was getting to that. Just be patient.” I replied.
So, like I said, we were on our way to dinner with friends and had picked them up in our car. We drove down the street and saw the flooded roadway ahead.
“You forgot to mention it was our special day.” she injected.
“It wasn’t our anniversary.” I answered.
“Not that day. No. We were going to dinner and tell them about having the baby.” she stated.
“What does that have to do with us driving through a flooded road?” I asked.
“It’s important. Details matter. If you’re not going to tell this story right, I don’t have to sit here and listen to it again.” she fumed.
“Fine. Go. Let me finish.” I snorted.
So, we’re driving through the deep water when our friends in the back seat shout, “There’s water coming in!”
I shout back, “Don’t open the doors!”
“We didn’t,” they scream, “It’s coming up through the floor!”
Off to the side, my wife rolls her eyes and lets our a huffing breath in disgust. I stop telling the story and ask, “What now?”
“Nothing. Just tell your story.” she flatly stated.
“What?” I insist.
“I can’t believe you didn’t remember the purpose of going out was to celebrate my pregnancy with our friends.” she growled.
“I said it.” replying in a guarded tone.
“Only after I reminded you. Typical.” she mumbled the last word.
…And we made it through the water safely. The car didn’t stall. We didn’t get stranded. The water only got the carpet wet. We eventually sold the car in the winter when it didn’t smell so moldy. The end.
What’s the best story someone else has recently told you (in person, preferably)? Share it with us, and feel free to embellish — that’s how good stories become great, after all.