The flamingos got knocked over by a Honda

Mr. G. has many wonderful qualities. Driving isn't one of them. His nickname in high school was "Whoa-Whoa" because that's what his friends always said when they were in the car with him and he was behind the wheel. Over the years, he's backed into my car two or three times. He forgets to look behind him when putting the car in reverse. You do not want to see him backing down the driveway. He's usually staring down into his coffee cup or adjusting the seat while I screech, "Aren't you going to look behind you while you're backing out!?!! You could hit a child!!!!!" He usually calmly replies "I looked," glances in the rearview mirror and slams on the brake to avoid hitting the neighbors' poodle. You don't want to be in a car with us.

All of this brings me to the
day after Christmas. My mom, sister and I decided to hit Hobby Lobby for the 60 percent off sale (it was awesome). As I perused the tree lights and bemoaned the fact that only red lights with white cords were left (really), I spotted them. The adornment my yard was lacking. The adornment that had to go into my cart. The adornment I needed in duplicate. Or maybe triplicate. Light up Christmas flamingos for the driveway. I showed them to my mother, and she promptly said:

Mom: You know Glenn's going to back over them.
Me: But I love them.
Mom: You know he will.
Me: But I really, really want them.
Mom: OK, but I'd make him park on the street.

I bought them. Two of them. My little flock of six flamingos with Santa hats perched so jauntily on their heads. The plan was to put them along the front walkway. Aha!!! No cars drive along there. At least in theory. But they just didn't look right so I moved them to the driveway. I watched through the kitchen window as Mr. G. navigated his way down the driveway the next day. He hit the neighbor's bushes but completely missed the flamingos. Success!!!! Then I got up to go to work the next morning, hopped into the car, put it in reverse, punched the accelerator and mowed down the flock. Don't tell Mr. G.