I told a friend about my exciting, thrill-seeking adventures so far this summer, as my car stranded me not once, not twice, but thrice along a sparsely populated and rarely traveled highway in the sweltering heat of extremely sunny afternoons. I should have known better to tell my story of struggle to Mr. "If you think that was bad, let me tell you my experience."
He then began to regale me with his tale of hardship. It involved his RV breaking down on a hot, lonely highway during his trip across America. As he waited for the breakdown service to come to his rescue, the wait forced him to make a tasty lunch in the comfort of his RV’s air-conditioned kitchen, while watching television.
I failed to see how his experience was worse than mine. There's a reason it is called a recreational vehicle. I have something similar to it. It just doesn't have wheels. I call it “my home”.
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