#03984 is the winning number.

Oh, yeah. 03984

Rick answered the door bell with no expectations at all.  But when he saw the uniform he fought the urge to run, but this one wasn’t blue with a badge---just a postal worker holding out a UPS letter. 

Rick was told that this was a classified letter, First Class and it needed his signature on the green card to verify letter had been received. With shaking hands, Rick signed his name, taking the envelope.

Falling onto the stained couch, Rick cleared the beer cans and mirrors off the table in one sweep.  This is one serious letter, man.  Serious stinkin' serious.  Tearing the tab across cardboard, Rick pulled out a regular envelope.  Lookit!  My name typed ‘n everything!   

Return address was a local Ford Dealer.
  

Then the letter…a real honest letter, with stuff about an award, with his personal number—03984…honored to win his very own 2016 Mustang…Holy crap!  This is real….

My own Mustang?...Rick dropped his head between his knees, contemplating throwing up or passing out.  

Directions indicated prize winners… Winners?...were to check in by 2 pm today…Today?...to allow recipients time to tour the car lot filled with Mustangs of all colors.  

The drawing would be…Today?  Rick stripped off stained torn clothes, found the cleanest spread over the floor, and raced out to his ‘cylce. With a roar, off went Rick, off to pick out his own Mustang.

About twenty men toured around the car lot filled with sharp cool fast Mustangs.  Rick joined them, each reverently touching cars from end to 
end, roof to undercarriage.  Hot sun baked each man, no one cared. After all! Mustangs!

American style

When a bald man, gut-hanging over his belt, called numbers, checking them off.  Nodding abruptly, he explained, “You guys!  Lissen up!  Your number called, you come up with your letter, and we’ll get outta this damn heat.  Inside we’ll make sure you’re who you say you are.” Nodding again, he called the first number.  “O4669?”

Gut guy and 04669 disappeared inside.  Minutes passed, Gut emerged, called out 06322, and the process went on until only Rick was left, clutching his letter, 03984, precious 03984. Letitbemeletitbeme…

Finally, 03984 was called.  His heart pounded in his chest, Here!  It’s my number.  The door opened into the showroom, and Rick’s mouth all but dropped.  Lincolns, Mustangs…I could make big bucks lifting these…

But then, Rick was taken to another room, where a ring of badges anticipated his arrival.  One grabbed Rick, cuffed him, and read the Miranda Rights. 

A big white bus awaited him, filled with all the other award winners, grumbling and shocked.  Just like him. Mustangs grew small as the bus drove away.  I coulda won the cool black one, with the racing stripe.  Yup, I woulda picked that one.

The underlined words were provided by Delores in Wednesday Words in 2015. Rewrites followed and then this is what you read.

This has actually happened several times, where ex-convicts had broken their paroles. But hope springs eternal when it comes to Mustangs.

A Song for my Husband

McDonald's Breakfast Burrito

My husband of 39+ years and I have had this running ‘battle’.  One thing you need to know is that he loves fast food while I am not one who randomly eats empty calories or fat-laden burgers.  Another thing you need to know is that John loves to eat this fast food in the car while he is driving.

The Big Mac

Oh, the arguments we have had over the years.

 

Oh, the Big Macs, Famous Stars, and Jumbo Jacks that he has eaten (not always successfully) while trying to drive. While he does this, I am simmering in the passenger seat, sometimes steering the car while he stuffs those special sauce burgers into his mouth.

 

And, no, he would not let me drive while he ate.  You don’t want me go into that direction.

Famous Star

In honor of this ongoing struggle, I have written lyrics for a song.  The melody would be more on the lines of country western; maybe Arlee Bird or Elisa'shusband Cade could come up with something.  Well, here goes.

I’ll eat my dang burrito—

Don’t care if it might drip.

Oh, sure, the thing is messy,

But I’m over fifty-six.

Chorus:

Eat my burrito-oh- oh…

And pour salsa down the side!

Eat my burrito-oh-oh…

And let that salsa slide.

I’ll eat that hot burrito

‘Cause McDonald’s made it hot.

Jumbo Jack--nummmmy!

I am a grown man, that you know,

A careless kid I’m not.

Chorus

(Possible key change with a snazzy riff)

I’ve got this big ol’ belly,

It works just like a tray.

No, I don’t need another napkin,

I 'll do it my own way.

Chorus

You might hand me a napkin,

There’s a big drip down over there.

No, the people that I work with

Won’t notice or even care.

Chorus

(Repeat, and throw in some big ending)

WELL, there you have it: a song for my husband. 

Also, today is the A to Z Challenge Kick Off!   This is so exciting!!  Click on the badge on the right of this post to access all the information!   Yay!