Poor Old Otis

Something today reminded me of this story so I thought I would share it with you. It's the time Bobbie and I made $25 getting my truck towed for free. If you've already heard about it, sorry, but it's probably still funny the second time...

We waiting for the tow truck to come pick up Otis from Big Mike's shop and take it to a transmission shop. We were hung over and in sweatpants and huge hoodie sweatshirts, wearing yesterdays make-up, hair tangled to the extent that pony-tails could not tame it. It's 4pm. Hey, that's how we rolled in the MHC.

Anyway, I'm in communication with the tow truck driver who is running late due to a back up of proportions a small town like Denver rarely sees and he is freaking out. I'm slightly annoyed, but decide to wait it out rather than calling Mr. Rescue and asking them to send someone else. When he finally shows up, after about an hour of waiting he's very apologetic. So apologetic that there is no refusing the $25 he's insisting we "two pretty young ladies take and go buy some pitchers of beer". Pretty? Yeah, 18 hours ago we were smokin' hot, at this time however we look like something that should send an audition tape to Riki Lake for a makeover. I'm barefoot for fucks sake!

At this point in the story the lucky listener always says, "I wish I were a hot girl so people would give me free stuff and pay me." First of all: the tow was free because I called Mr. Rescue, the roadside assistance plan Verizon Wireless offers for just dollars a month, look into it. It's a good investment. Secondly: what part of dirty, hung over, sweat clothes wearing, messy make up didn't you understand? Also, the guy was not hitting on us, his wife was with him. Although, upon closer inspection of Mrs. Towtruckdriver, maybe we were his type.