The Clif Bar Story
Stopped at a red light near the mall in downtown Bellevue, seven of us in the car in the pouring rain. My sister first took note of the guy next to us.

"Hey," she said, "that guy's driving a Clif Bar!"

Sure enough, so said a big logo on the driver-side door of his white truck. But the image of someone driving an actual Clif Bar was enough to send us, food-drunk and full of thai cuisine, into convulsions of giggles. Allie pointed, "I think he's laughing!

"No, he's eating!"

What was he eating? You guess. We rolled down the window, dark with rain, to get a better look. Unsatisfied, a motioned at him and he lowered his.

"Are you, by any chance, eating a Clif Bar?" I asked, smirking.

In answer, he looked down at the little nub of snack left in his hand, very obviously the remains of a Clif Bar-- and then chucked it out of the window of his company truck and into our car. It hit me on the leg and bounced onto the seat in between my sister and I. To screams of "EWW!" and "IT IS! IT IS!!" I picked up the bit and turned it about, contemplating the proper response. Should I eat it? Eating it would be funny but might also condemn me to whatever weird cooties Clif Bar guy might have had. Hmm.

I think I thought about it a bit too long, because before I knew it, another flying projectile had flung through the window and hit me in the head-- this time a packaged Peanut Butter Crunch. The light changed, and as we wheeled left around the corner I tossed the munched bit out the window into the rain.

Four sisters, laughing wildly and hoisting aloft up a Clif Bar as if it were pirate booty.

"Prepare to be boarded!"

This is the kind of fun ya can't have if you take life too seriously.