Better 

The sky? Blue. Has to be blue. That’s what she wants. A blue-sky postcard. Okay. Found it. “Dear Elaine,” she writes. “So this morning. Pumping gas at Speedway. There I am. The rain is gone. (Can we all sing hallelujah?) Nothing but blue skies. The bluest of blue. Truly. And a warm breeze. That too. And bright sunshine. And the scent of fresh-cut grass. (The lawn crew is mowing at Haverty’s.) And I’m thinking. What a great day to be alive! And I’m thinking. Does it get any better than this? I think not. A few minutes later I’m driving down Tucker Road. And a car pulls into my lane. Right in front of me. And stops. This car. Stops. And turns. Right in front of me. (Crazy people!) I slam on the brakes. My purse flies off the seat. Lands on the floor. And Holly? Still buckled in her car seat. (Thank God!) I look at her. She looks at me. And I say. Puppuccino? She barks. Okay then. I was wrong. It does get better than this. I mean. There’s always a reason. You know? For Starbucks. So there.”