The New England weather forecast for "a little bit of snow on Sunday" has turned into a whopping potential blizzard with predictions of anywhere from eight to eighteen inches of snow for my area and hurricane force winds.
After shoveling out yet again from a passing Saturday storm, I decide to run a couple of errands before going wine tasting. One thing I know -- I'm not going anywhere near a grocery store. Not before a storm. People are insane out there. I need to spend money at CVS in order to use coupons that expire in a couple of days, and I need to get ink at Staples for my printer. Sounds easy, right?
On my way to the closest CVS, I encounter the first of the blizzard maniacs: everyone is turning into the gas station to fill up the cars' gas tanks. The station is located on an almost impossible corner, difficult to maneuver to the pumps and annoyingly flanked by the traffic light. Due to the heavy weekend traffic, I am sitting at the light for a few cycles. As I inch closer to the gas station (which is within spitting distance of CVS, my destination), there is an SUV blocking entrance to the gas station. This backs up the cars as people are trying to get their pre-blizzard share of gasoline because God forbid these people be stuck in their driveways with half a tank of gas. Finally, the SUV backs into the limited parking area along the fence, allowing traffic to flow again, at least in the other direction. I am still waiting for the next light.
The driver exits the SUV and turns his back toward the line of cars in which I am sitting. This is when I see it. This is when we all see it. The driver, who is a larger man about my age, has his pants sagging down. Not just his pants, though, his underwear, as well, and his shirt is riding high on his back.
The man is showing his entire ass, crack and all, chubby cheeks fully included, to the entire center of town. Even more mesmerizing, he makes no attempt to rectify the situation for a good ten to fifteen seconds. This may sound like a very short time, but women in labor know that fifteen seconds can pass by at an interminable pace. I do not know about the drivers in front of nor behind me, but my eyes are glued to the pinkish-white spectacle. The light turns green, and I continue on my way, leaving Ass Cheek Man back at the gas station.
So, folks, what do the evening sky and the guy I see at the gas station have in common? The answer to my original question is simple: FULL MOON.
