I'm driving Emergency Contact's little car. She's in the passenger seat. The following exchange takes place.
Me: The inside of this car is disgusting.
EC: It's not that bad. Stop carrying on.
Me: It is exactly that bad. Look at that. And that. And how in the hell do you get coffee into there?
EC: It's the schoopid boys up the road.
Me: What, they lean in and splash it around?
EC: No, I had my coffee and had to make a few calls and send messages and the traffic was really stop-start and those guys up the road always fill the cup to the absolute top.
Me: I see. Why don't you drink a bit before you set off.
EC: Too hot.
Me: Ask them to put a little bit less in.
EC: It's all I can do to get them to remember, “Soy flat white, one sugar.”
Me: I'll grant you that. They confused my order with the order of a four foot, white haired 90-year-old, Greek lady the other day.
EC: See?
Me: Ok, the coffee I get, no matter if it is visually offensive. But it doesn't explain a whole lot of this other stuff. What's that?
EC: Sunscreen.
Me: How'd it get on the window and why is there soooo much of it?
EC: You know how it is.
Me: No. And is that yoghurt?
EC: Oh, is that what that is? Good one. I'd been wondering. Interesting.
Me: I'm getting a disease just from looking at the dashboard.
EC: Oh stop it. It's really not that bad.
As she's finishing the phrase, “that bad”, I am breaking at a red light. A petrified potato comes rolling out from under the passenger seat and lolls up against the handbag at her feet.
I look at her and raise an eyebrow. She says, “Goddamnit!”
