Sometimes life feels like a movie.
Sometimes true love saves you from the forces of evil. Sometimes you win the big game with 0.01 seconds to spare.
And sometimes, you peel back your kitchen curtains to reveal a giant freaking R/V parked just eight feet from your house, like in the movie Christmas Vacation.
I ain’t talking about one of them towable pop-up campers, neither. I’m talking forty feet of dirty, dilapidated recreational-and-also-possibly-meth-lab-vehicle, complete with tiny confederate flag sticker (Seriously, the sticker is roughly the size of an index card. And considering we’re in the heart of the Union, that’s kind of like whispering “Go Titans” at a Patriots game.).
Now, I’m not saying my WASP eyes are so genteel and high falutin’ that they start watering the moment they come in contact with a little down home smokey country flavor, but there is something a skosh dispiriting about sipping your morning coffee whilst gazing at chipped vinyl, formica, and rusted holes the size of bullets.
I suppose the silver lining of all this is that it does not appear anyone is living in White Lightening (the only logical name for this leviathan). After all, nobody wants to sip coffee from their camper’s kitchenette with a view of a peeping man-boy in a purple bathrobe.
Jeez. Now I feel bad.
I guess you should really drive a mile in a dirty camper before passing judgement on people.