Rebellious

I wrote the following piece for a writing workshop I took a couple weeks ago. My prompt was 'hitch hike.' 

How many horror stories can you imagine about hitch hikers?

Probably about a million from the prospective of the hitch hiker, and another million from the point of view of the generous driver.

I don't know why, but I have long harbored a rebellious urge to hitch hike. Or pick up a hitch hiker.

I once picked up a trio of hitch hikers. Kind of. It was long ago, and I was living in a university town. Three crazy college kids jumped into my car at a light, and cheerfully said, "Don't mind us, we're just going to ride with you to the next light.” Which they did, and then they all tumbled out of my car. I thought it was hilarious. When I laughingly told my then husband about it, he was horrified. *eyeroll*

Then there was the time when I once hitch hiked. Kind of. My car was snowed in, and I was walking to work. A kind gent in a big truck offered to give me a ride. I accepted, and was happy to get to work warm and energized, rather than frozen and worn out. When I told my present husband about it, and he was horrified. *eyeroll*

Maybe I don't have an rebellious urge to hitch hike, as much as I have a rebellious urge not to be so avidly protected!

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