day 3: the smallest hill I am willing to die on.

I am driving down a windy road, well not me, I hate driving.  The countryside is bare save some flashy neon sides in the distance.  They are not the cool retro feel, but the kind that drive you wild, because they are just trying to be obnoxious.

I pass one that screams in yellow and red, "Mom can't eat at McDonald's."  This is what my children believe. Can I be worn down from their begging to purchase "food" for them while also driving to a real place for my own food. Yes, I'm willing to go the extra mile.

Later down the road, loud speakers and chanting call out, take me out to the ball game... Baseball is the worst. The absolute worst. Moving on.

Perhaps a few more landmarks obnoxiously flash things like, I'd rather have a caffeine headache than drink diner coffee or Iron Man is the greatest superhero of all time, but those bulbs are shorting out and hard to see if you're not looking.

Suddenly though, the road dead ends and no one is prepared. We slam the break and brace our hands on the dash. There is a giant road barrier marked in warning red X's.  And a walking loudspeaker, which should be alarming enough appears over the smallest hill, "THE MONSTER'S NAME WAS NOT FRANKENSTEIN. THE MONSTER'S NAME WAS NOT FRANKENSTEIN."

It seems like this might go on for a while, so we slowly reverse and drive away, but we can still hear it.

THE MONSTER'S NAME WAS NOT FRANKENSTEIN!