Baby, You Can’t Drive My Car

Hello folks, let’s chat…I was telling my family I considered myself a safe driver because I’ve never run into anyone when they started laughing like hyenas and my precious daughter-in-law Carey said, ­“Right, Keggie. But those inanimate objects do have to worry about you.”  Et tu, Carey?

There’s a bit of history here. It could have to do with the trash can that recently marred my Buick. Fortunately, my husband’s a longsuffering man, though he can also be quite the comedian.

Several nights before I had returned from a speaking engagement to one of his little routines: “Hey baby, glad you’re home.” Phil said. “Run into any trash cans?”

“Nope.”

“Mail boxes?”

“No!”

“Shopping carts?”

“No!”

“Sonic poles?”

Sigh. Even I can see the pattern. Changing the focus here, I’m reminded of the time my friend Billie had her first experience towing someone, that someone being her own darling husband who perhaps took his life in his hands when he climbed in the to-be towed vehicle.

Things started out well but soon Billie’s hands began tightening around the steering wheel. She did steal several glances at the rearview and she did see her man frowning and motioning, but this was BCP (before cell phones) and she couldn’t stop to see what he wanted— for reasons that will soon become clear.

They were clipping along nicely when they entered a curve together. Billie came out of it. Her husband’s vehicle left the road, flew the ditch and landed in a nearby field. Thankfully, he was okay, if you didn’t count the steam coming out of his ears as he approached his drag-racing woman.

“What on earth?!” he hollered. “Did you know how fast you were driving?”

A distraught Billie answered tearfully, “Yes, but you told me whatever I did not to slow down!”

Her man shook his head in disbelief. “I meant don’t slow down and get slack in the rope, and then speed up again!”

Well, now, perhaps he should’ve said that. Right, girls? As I like to say, some things you just don’t know until you do.”

Hugs, Shellie