We drove past an empty pasture this morning as rain darkened the route to a friend's house. The Boss was, as always, on the lookout for those animals she loves to hate. She didn't find any.
"Stupid horses," she muttered.
I did a visual double take in the rear view mirror and a verbal one to boot. "What?"
"Stupid horses." She repeated the slur--more clearly this time, for emphasis--as she gave the hairy eyeball to a patch of barren farmland.
I cringed. Then I shrugged my shoulders against the worn leather of the driver's seat and acknowledged that it could've been much worse.
The fact that such a thought comforted me is no doubt a very, very bad sign.