Every day on my way into work I pass by a sign that encourages me to “Adopt A Highway.”

I consider it.

My children are grown, my dog is well-behaved; maybe I need a neglected stretch of macadam to make my life complete.

But then I think of the hours of selfless nurturing:  the nights of wondering who’s driving the curving paved stretches, will there be an accident, are the double yellow lines neat and legible, not to mention the constant nagging about litter and roadkill.

In this society, appearance is everything.

It would be fun, though, to speculate on a bit of thoroughfare that belongs totally to me. 

Would it one day become an impressive interstate or maybe a tollway that could then, in turn, take care of me in my old age?

I glance at the void metal backside of the sign in my rearview mirror.

No.  I am now too irresponsible and tired to adopt a highway.

Copyright 2009