Subtitle: I Should Be Ashamed of Myself
I think I mentioned a while back that Hubby bought a new car. I told him he didn't need something with 140 mph on the speedometer, and he said he wouldn't go any faster than 130.
Every time we go out to eat now, we go in his car. But he has usually been playing golf (read: drinking beer) all day, so he allows me to drive.
And he always says, "Punch it." "Floor it." Or something equally juvenile.
I tell him I'm not going to drive fast because I'm a wimp and afraid of getting a speeding ticket. (I've only had one in my life, when I was 18 and driving to Daytona Beach and I cried for the whole three days I was there over a $25 speeding ticket.)
Last night we went to the one town I don't like to go between Thanksgiving and Christmas because all the shoppers come out and bring three cars each and clog up the streets. Even after the students go home for Christmas, traffic is still a nightmare during the holiday season.
Let me go on record here and say I am NOT one of those people who exhibits road rage. I may get irritated, I may sometimes allow other drivers to get somewhat under my skin, but I am not an aggressive driver. I don't use the horn (much) or the middle finger (hardly ever), and if I think another driver is annoyed with ME, I don't make eye contact.
One thing that DOES get on my nerves, though, is when a driver insists on driving in the left lane. The major road between the college town and our town is not a controlled-access highway, so sometimes it's necessary for people to turn left, but there is no sense in people getting in that left lane and clogging up the lane for everyone else.
When I FINALLY got around a car that was cruising along at just under the speed limit in the left lane, Hubby said, "Smoke him."
(That's another of his favorites.)
And I did.
I punched it, and that Challenger took off like somebody had just counted down to a space shuttle liftoff. I was then in the right lane and gaining (rapidly) on another car, so I pulled out to pass it too. Then I realized it was a Mustang.
And I channeled my inner Hubby and smoked him too.
I am a wimp, though, so as soon as I saw his taillights in the mirror, I eased off the accelerator. Hubby said, "What did you get up, 100?"
I glanced at the speedometer and saw it sweep past 100 mph ON THE WAY BACK DOWN.
"Yeah," I replied.
Since I had my laser eye surgery only on one eye, I have these special glasses I'm supposed to wear when I drive at night. I can't find them.
What an idiot.