Obdurate.

There are things that can happen in a decades-long, centuries-long life together that’ll coalesce into stuff that clumps together and solidifies into the kind of immovability that leads to unrelenting sternness.

Miss Carol and me have never had one of those things.

Until now.

This whole trucking thing seems to be threatening our innocently bright-eyed doe-like view of the world.

Things are happening at hyper-speed. I’ve been approached by a transport company to come on board as a newbie owner-operator (something unheard of in the trucking industry-most want 3 yrs experience) so I’d started the finance part of buying a truck and I’d scoped out several tractors and driven a few and maybe even decided on one.

I started to lay it all out to Miss Carol tonight when MR. OBDURATE waddled his fat ass into the room and plunked down all wheezy and sweaty between Miss Carol and me.

He farted and grinned and that was it for that.

Things splintered and the splinters were things totally unrelated to what we’d been talking about.

But the splinters became more important than the issue and MR. OBDURATE sat happily picking his nose and flicking it at us.

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2 responses to “Obdurate.

  1. Congrats on the trucking offer….not so much on your other visitor though.

  2. Yeah, Mr. Obdurate is a fat pain in the ass.
    And he smells bad.

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