Dr. M, Dr. M's mother, and I are in Denver on a daring house-hunting safari. Because it is impossible for me to do anything with a modicum of simplicity, the three of us each arrived in Denver on different days of the past week. As such, last night Dr. M's mom and I were driving our rented Dodge Nitro (YEEEEAHHHH!!!!) to the Denver International Airport to pick up Dr. M. The Denver International Airport is a terrible place, for many reasons, among them being the fact that the people in charge of the airport thought it would be a good idea to welcome travelers to Denver by presenting them with a massive, terrifying hell-horse:
(No, that isn't a trick of the camera -- the horse's eyes actually glow red.) The hell-horse statue, standing at thirty-two feet and bearing the unassuming title "Mustang," rivals the San Jose Poop Snake on my list of dumbest pieces of civic art.
Anyway, the point of this story is that, as Dr. M's mom and I approached the airport last night, we had this conversation:
Me: Hey, check out the giant horse.
Her: Oh, that's terrifying. It's going to give me nightmares.
Me: Night... mares?
(Yes, I know I'm not the first person to make this joke.)
