Flimsy Whimsy: “Blot”

On a desolate highway between here and Denver, Cousin Joe and kids pulled over for a bladder emptying respite. Coffee and pop in thirst-quenching glugs does that.

For about 1000 miles prior to the pit stop down through Montana and Wyoming, highways were scattered with blots of red, the residual after-effects of road kill. Emotions got melancholy at the sight of overwhelming evidence of the continuing clash of values regarding wild animal survival and convenience.

Besides the previously mentioned bladder emptying exercise, it was customary for a brief butt-stretching jog to some selected landmark and back. Driving for miles on end in those poorly designed seats Ford makes doesn’t do much for reducing rear pain.

Approximately half way down the allotted stretching stretch of road and in the exact middle of the lane, the unusual turquoise blot caught Joe’s eye. The two yard long mark had the overall shape of a dead spread-eagled frog, and parts were more faded than others from traffic and rain.

At first he thought it was some sort of simple chemical spill, such as someone having tossed a jug of windshield wiper fluid. Or maybe someone with blue radiator coolant had stopped when the car overheated. Perhaps even some guy the doctor assumed had a rare urinary infection had stopped to spill the blue beets, so to say. Potatoes weren’t meant to be blue, yet that’s how those purple ones turn out.

An extreme overindulgence in blueberry pie, although just as unlikely, would seem to be somewhat more probable. After several hours and nightmares of due consideration, mostly oddball fantasy, Joe was able to stick the ordeal into the area of brain called suppression. He can’t wait until its ugly head appears again, or until one of those pesky “Why?” asking kids reminds him about that great turquoise blot.