My kid is learning to drive. Now, I don't look like I could possibly have a child getting ready to be a licensed driver, what with my perfectly unblemished skin and girlish figure, but I do. And it's been much easier than I thought it would be.
For me, I mean. There is nothing better than letting your kid drive you around. I can text with impunity, eat my breakfast on the way to school, read the newspaper, and (you people who have younger kids might want to sit down for this) drink beer when I'm at friend's house. Or my mother-in-law's house. Or really anywhere I damn well please because I HAVE A DESIGNATED DRIVER. I keep hearing these parents whine and lament about being sad about having a driver, fearful that they'll be in an accident, bereft at the thought of their babies growing up.
Fuck that. Here are the keys. Be careful. Your car payment is to take your sister anywhere she wants to go. Your insurance is taking the dogs to the vet. Your gas money is running any paltry errand I can think of. Godspeed. Fly, be free.
I'm not sure that it's been quite as easy for her. You see, I tend to be just a teeny bit controlling. I'm sure you can't tell. And I tend to handle that by yelling "STOP!STOP!STOP!" over and over whether it's an emergency or not. I'm trying really hard not to, but, I'm not going to lie, I'm struggling. And some of my passenger-seat psycho behavior I don't even know I'm doing. For example, when she first started driving, she claimed that I do a hissing inhale every time she takes a curve too fast (or maybe not even too fast, maybe any curve, who's to say?). Now, most of the time, I'm not even aware that I'm making this sound. And up until about three weeks ago, I would have denied that I was doing it.
Until. . . .
Until three weeks ago, when my mom came to town. Now, I'm 44 years old. I got a hardship license at 15 and have been driving a car since I was 13. I haven't had a wreck since I was in my mid-20's and in that one I was a passenger. I haven't had a ticket since my mid-30's. I don't reverse well. I am an excellent parallel parker. I think speed limits are more guidelines than hard and fast rules, and my neighbor just told me last night that he "knows who stops at the neighborhood four-way stop and who doesn't." But all in all, I'm a pretty safe driver.
So, my mom and S and I were in the car, headed to pick up G from school. On our route was a 90-degree left curve in a 50 mph zone. I took that curve at a relatively judicious 35-40 mph and smoothly entered the curve, accelerating at the apex of the curve, just like my daddy taught me. And at the moment I was executing this epic driving maneuver, my mom grabbed the "oh shit" handle and made this hissing inhale noise.
Busted. And the worst part was that G wasn't even in the car at the time, so I could show her that it wasn't my fault.
I can't help it. It's genetic.