Why I love my friend, Frances

I spent the afternoon with an old friend of mine...when I say old, I mean, we have know each other since the fifth grade...okay, that's a long time for us urbanites.

We were driving in her car, and she started on a wonderful diatribe, explaining that she had taken her car to a body-shop owned by an acquaintance of her boyfriend to get a dent repaired. She said the guy seemed very shady, and she didn’t like the place…but her insurance didn’t cover the dent (caused by a hit-and-runner, when she had the car parked), and he would repair it for cheap.

When she picked up the car a few days later, the dent was repaired, but he had lost her key, broken the center arm rest closing mechanism, and…*gasp* horror upon horror: her Bush/Cheney button and “I voted” sticker had been removed from her Righty the Elephant Beenie Baby, which she had in the front of her car.

She claimed: “I just know that bastard saw that, and thought, 'oooh, she’s Republican' and knew that I voted against Prop 66, (which would have limited California’s Three Strikes Law), and got all angry, because he is most likely on his second strike. And so he stole my Bush/Cheney button just to spite me.”

I was cracking up so hard.