First the good news: we only have one car, so when my wife gets a brain freeze from a Sonic frozen drink and loses control of her vehicle (like this guy from the great State of Kansas), she won’t crash into me.
But now the bad news: She can run me over while I’m on my bike, and she goes to Sonic all the time. When it comes to Sonic, she’s got a bit of a “drinking problem,” meaning she drinks, and it’s a problem. The other day she said to me, “I wish Happy Hour was from 7 to 9,” because Sonic has drink specials from 2 to 4, when our kids are with her, and if she could drink alone, she'd have more money to spend on her own drinks.
Happy Hour Story: when my father would go to Phoenix for work, if we were off school for summer vacation we’d go with him (because what’s more enjoyable than Phoenix in the summer?). We’d stay at the same hotel, which had a picture of a mermaid laid in tile on the bottom of the pool. The room where they had their Continental breakfast (a big favorite of childhood-Random Stranger) once had a sign advertising Happy Hour from 1 to 4 or something like that. I thought that sounded like fun (who can argue against something called Happy Hour?) and insisted that I wanted to go. My mother didn’t want me to, but I persisted and eventually my father took me. I discovered that there were two things wrong with the sign: it wasn’t an hour, and it wasn’t happy. We had a soda or something and left.