It was five o'clock rush-hour when I got to Lititz, and traffic was excessively heavy and clotted (backed up at each light). Then I spotted signs and barricades just waiting to be moved into the street! Very quickly something else dawned on me: There were an awful lot of vintage cars lined up in the parking lane.
Jeepers! I said to myself. That's right, there's that car show this evening! But surely it wouldn't be starting any time soon. Hmmm, though right away I imagined those folks on the sidewalk were kind of hanging around, biding their time.
Just as soon as I got to my destination (and it was no easy task to find a parking spot and cross the street) I asked the shop owner, "When does the car show begin?!"
Surprisingly, he didn't know, but we concurred that to rev up those engines right in the middle of rush hour would not be wise. So just then his wife came into the store.
"What time does the car show start, do you know?" he asked her.
"Five-thirty," she responded.
Reader Dear. My car may be over a decade old, but I wouldn't call it vintage. There is nothing of particular interest about it at all. Even the color is blah. It's got a few minor dents and scratches, and it wasn't all that clean (though it wasn't outstandingly dirty, either [just so you know]). What I mean to say is--no one would have thought it cool (in this cool little town) to see me sheepishly smiling and waving from a spot in that car parade!
I'll tell you, it was nothing but amazing how fast I narrowed my options, purchased that gift, and hightailed it back to the car! As I drove out of town, they were closing the road behind me!
And that, Reader Dear, is the unnecessarily wordy tale of how my nondescript auto and I were NOT in the car parade!
*(It's all about timing, you know. "The package
came right on my birthday!" my sis exclaimed.)