The truth is that I’ve been hating on scones for some time now.
I conducted a few spontaneous interviews with a random sample of friends and family and I don’t think I’m the only one who engages in Scone Hatery.
My favorite comment, delivered by particularly pithy pal, was “Scones make me think of crusty old British people sitting around wearing kilts and drinking gross tea.” Right on, my friend.
The straw that broke the camel’s back occurred during a particular painful road trip with A.
For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure, road-tripping with A. is similar to being trapped inside an elevator with only a radio that is permanently stuck on SportsCenter.
No food. No beverages. DEFINITELY no bathroom breaks. Just a continuous loop of Stuart Scott and endless stats.
Oh, the stats.
It doesn’t matter if your bladder explodes because your brain will likely slide of your ear as a result of Sports Stat Overload (yes this is an actual diagnosis).
I made an amateur’s mistake and neglected to prepare for this particular trip. No food or beverages were consumed, I forgot to hit the restroom, and I left my earplugs behind.
Flash forward 4 hours and I was officially in the bell jar: starving, dehydrated, and able to recite the ERA of every player in the National League.
Luckily, A. took pity on me. We pulled into a rest stop and I stumbled out of the car.
