The strangest things happen when I’m out and about with my writing friends. I’m not sure why that is, but it’s true. It leads to a few interesting tales spinning in my mind.
Take last Saturday:
D. and I were heading to a Chapter meeting in Victoria and we’d stopped to stretch our legs at a coffee place before the Malahatt (mountain pass). There was a biker’s store right next door, and a number of Harleys were parked gleaming in the summer sun outside.
While D. was in the powder room, I made myself comfortable at a table with my coffee. Two men sitting ten feet apart were carrying on a conversation loud enough for me to hear.
The skinnier one, in leather with a bandana and scruffy face said to the other one: “Yeah, women. My last one said to me. You won’t believe this, but she said to me, ‘Carburetors don’t belong on the kitchen table.'”
His friend, also dressed in leather, but with a paunch belly sticking out beneath a black t-shirt, grunted. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“And she said,” continued the first guy with a voice filled with incredulity, “‘Motorcycles don’t belong in the living room.'”
“Women, eh,'” said the second.
Then my friend D., a proper looking lady who writes regency historical romance came out with her tea and we talked duels.
Crazy…but true:) Gotta use it somewhere.