There are times when I truly believe that Mr Charles Darwin is trying to channel himself directly through me, to hand out his prestigious award to those most deserving.
While driving home in the shadow enshrouded rain today, it reminded me of a time where I almost bestowed it, in such a manner, upon a man a few short years back.
I can recall clearly how he was clad in a stylish, full track suit, emanating the loveliest shade of midnight black, perfectly suited to help him be at one with dark and dusk, like long-lost, then found, lovers firmly entangled in each others arms in a pit of tarry molasses.
His outfit was brilliantly accompanied by an oversized matte black umbrella which was surely helpful in maintaining the dryness of his perfectly appointed clothing, in the heavy, tumbling rain.
The problem was that in his well-dressed stupor, he was walking with his back to traffic, which in and of itself, isn’t often an issue, unless one chooses to do so in a live traffic lane, besides the perfectly empty sidewalk.
Yes, he was actually in the lane.
The lane I happened to be driving in.
All I can say is he should be happy that I had recently sold a kidney and had completed all my automotive servicing, including advanced brake maintenance, on my well appointed 1998 Honda Civic.
And that I have heavy-footed, yet cat-like reflexes.
For the record, dear reader, my brakes worked awesomely. As did my horn.
He, on the other hand, likely had to invest in some new underpants.