Next to me at the farmers market🤣 I had to sneak to take this pic because the guy who owns this vee-hickle kept coming in and out of the farmers market in his neon green shirt. Also, he can’t be all bad because he has a stuffed rabbit(?) attached to his front right bumper (just noticed that now).

Not that you would never see a Trumpmobile down on the Planet Ann Arbor but you would be MUCH more likely to see peace signs and rainbows, and “coexist”, etc.

My haul today was whitefish right outta Gitchee Gumee, onions, lettuce, TOMATOES (this early in the summer?!?), cucumber, little potatoes, a few carrots, SHELLING PEAS (AGAIN!), and I fergit what else.

I texted this pic to FinFam (my daughters and bonus daughter/niece and the GG) and one of the beach urchins reminded me of the story that inspired today’s title.

I was up here with the POC. That was my bee-yoo-tiffle Island Teal Chrysler minivan that probably shouldda been lemon colored. It was acting up and I fergit why but it was at the dealer and I borrowed the Traf for the day. The Traf was my parents’ Geo Tracker and Traf is “fart” backwards if you didn’t already figure that out. This vee-hickle is not a Traf but it has a kinda similar form factor.

The parents left to do octogenarian-type errands and when I came up from the beach, there was a post-it note on the table. It was from my dad. It was *written* by my mother. And SIGNED “Jack” by my mother. It said something like, “Don’t drive it over 50 or the engine will blow up!” Ooooookaaaay…

I emailed my brother the automotive engineer and he got back to me PRONTO with, “WHO THE HELL SAID THAT!?!” Of course he knew FULL WELL who the hell said that. The funny thing is that once I got out on 6-mile Road, it didn’t feel all that comfortable going much faster than 50.

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