The fortune teller said I will live to be 91. She also said to stop worrying about my two J's, they will be fine. She said that love and money are coming. And, a trip to Florida. Also, moving. (gasp! NO!) "Pamela" gave me the usual bla bla for $10 and I enjoyed every minute, especially thinking about living to be a ripe old age of 91!
Until the ride home on 495 where the big idiot scared the living shit out me. He can drive between a concret divider and a tractor trailer at 75 mph without breaking a sweat or giving it a second thought. Meanwhile, I am having a panic attack in the passenger seat. If it were me driving, I would do everything I could to (AND WOULD!) avoid this scenario. So, a beautiful day at the beach ends in a migraine and the wish to drop the anvil.
Next time, he's not invited.