Be careful what you wish for...

More proof that this time-tested adage is true:

Just as I left work to pick up some dinner, I thought to myself, "Ms. Wankershanks, I wish stuff actually happened in my life so I'd actually have something to blog about."

Not five minutes later, my car is plowing into a field of queen-sized, pillow-top matresses. Nice ones too.

Apparently, the truck in front of me was transporting poorly secured mattresses at 10:30pm. In the rain. On a 6-lane highway.
Not a good idea, dude.

So, one flies off and gets stuck under my car as I swerve and careen and honk and curse. Mostly curse. My life, apparently a low budget indie flick, was flashing before my eyes. Of course, as I stop to trade information with the truck driver, I am told that it's clearly my fault because I was probably speeding/drunk/half-blind (take your pick, all were used.)

And here we go.

So, long story short, they refused to cooperate by providing me with the standard stuff: license number, insurance information, phone number, etc. What would have been a 5 minute annoyance turned into a pain-in-the-ass marathon since I finally had to call the highway patrol.
Once on the scene of the grisly mattress attack, the authorities agreed with me (surprise, surprise!) that when you drop a mattress on the road, and someone hits it, it isn't their fault. My car seems to be fine, other than the wafting smell of lightly toasted Serta.

And so I went along my merry way to pick up my crappy, late night, fast food. But suddenly, I've just lost my appetite. My 7-layer burrito is staring at me as if to say, "would you die for me?"
No, burrito. No I wouldn't.