“I’m gettin’ kind of sleepy,” I said. “Do you want to drive for a while?”
“I’m not sure they let 13-year-olds drive, dad…”
“Even in Alabama?”
“Fraid not,” she said. “Suck it up, buttercup.”
“I gotta coffee up then,” I told her, pulling off to the next truck stop we approached.
As I went to pay for my gas station crappuccino, the cashier pushed a packaged honeybun in my direction.
“No thanks,” I told her, sliding it back to her.
“No, you don’t understand, sugah,” she smiled, pushing it back towards me. “It’s free with a large coffee.”
“I’m not interested,” I grinned back at her, picking it up and slapping it back down on the counter.
“I ain’t kiddin’,” she repeated. “They’re havin’ one of them promotions where you get a free honeybun when you buy a large coffee.”
“I’m allergic,” I told her.
“You’re allergic to honeybuns?” she laughed. “Why, I ain’t never heard of anybody that was allergic to honeybuns!”
“It’s true,” I told her, taking my coffee and backing away from the counter. “Every time I eat one, I break out in fat.”
