I soon discovered that there is no universal hand sign for "your lights are off." It's easy enough when the person is driving at you, as you can simply flash the brights. But with the driver behind me, I was forced to improvise a signal. I landed on miming a blinking light with my right hand. This got little reception, and I think I was assumed to have been doing some sort of dance. Finally, I pulled up next to the driver and pointed at the front of his car, making the same blinking hand motion. I was assured that there was no need to race. (Just as fine, Mr. Grand Caravan, my car would have positively owned you.)
In non-fog news, I'm glad to report that a late born whim this last Friday paid off. One half of Team Britannia was propelled into the finals for the annual comedy moot at the law school. It bodes well for the upcoming Law Revue that people find British accents so funny. And once again, I was asked if I was actually British. Nope, just watched Spinal Tap an inordinate amount of times.
That fog looks almost dense enough for a zombie horde to hide in.
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