Lovey Loverpants and I had nearly mastered the road trip when Baby Girl hopped on the bus. We pack like champs (tip: why bring a bag when you can put everything in a laundry basket and keep it folded!), prepare our playlists/audio books, plan to eat many sugary treats and have many, many laughs. We have made the trip from Boston to Detroit/Cleveland oh so very many times, more times than Michael Jordan drove the ball to the hole, practically. We have every rest stop along the way pretty well memorized, like, No, Lovey, the TCBY is at the next stop, duh. Ah, rest stops. They're such a nice little slice of Americana, no? Fillin' the tank while you're looking to buy all manner of greasy food which so won't sit well in your stomach, forcing you to stop at the next rest stop to, heh, take care of bidness, know what I mean?
We cruised into one rest stop in upstate NY and immediately Lovey said, "Oh HO! Look at that mullet! We gotta get a picture of that." We beheld mullet man and promptly rifled through our laundry basket for the camera.
We introduced ourselves to Mullet Man and the Statey. Explained we were on a road trip for the first time with our daughter and couldn't we take a picture with these gents?
Mullet Man said, "Oh, wanna get her up in the truck? Get on up there. Be a truck driver."
So we did.