That backwards talking dream with the flaming blog

My pops visited last weekend. It was a lovely visit - short, as per usual, especially since we headed off to Chi-town on Sunday evening. Enough time, however, for me to remind myself that I am not in any sense a grown-up.

Alexis worked a St. Joe's shift on Saturday night (7pm to 7am), and I planned to head over after midnight. My dad was already in bed and reading when I demanded his keys. Well, you see, his car was the last in line in the driveway, and besides, he's driving this peppy little Ford with a sunroof and a great sound system.

What was he going to say? He looked up from his book and said: "on the desk."

Thanks dad.

I grabbed the keys and backed out of the room.

Instead of taking the car to the hospital like a good little daughter, I took it on a drive through the streets of South Campus, now lively with underclassmen . Here a boy smoking his first cigar, there a couple groping under a stop sign...and me, rocking out to acoustic music played way too loud. I got a spot near the arcade and started rummaging around the cup holders for change - it's time for a little LOTR, baby.

So, I pause, the sweet night air breezing past my face, and realize I am thirty-one years old, have taken my father's car joyriding at midnight, and am stealing his change to play pinball.

Somehow, I thought adulthood would be different.