 It's the part where I get into a freezing cold car before my eyes
have adjusted to the light and fight my way through early morning
traffic with a trio of turbulent teeny-boppers in the back seat.
"Hey, buddy, are you going to let me out of my driveway, or what?"
... and that was just a dog-walker.
I try to drive with two fingers because the steering wheel is too
cold to grip. When I attempted to pull my sleeves down over my
hands, I noticed that I had worn short sleeves under my jacket. What
was I thinking? Then I realized that I never changed out of my
pajamas.
"You've got the right of way, buddy! Just go, for Pete's sake!"
The sun is so low in the sky that even with my visors down, it
glares relentlessly into my fully dilated eyeballs. If the
windshield is even the slightest bit damp, the light will reflect
off the glass like it was the second coming of Christ. If I ever
heard anything that sounded remotely like angels singing, I would
head back home and start packing.
Of course, when I'm temporarily blinded, that's when someone
decides it's a good time to pull out in front of me.
"Do you have a death wish or something, buddy!?"
Concentrating on my driving leaves me little to no brain capacity
to interpret the constant litany of complaints (far from angelic
heraldry) coming from the back seat:
"Stop humming! Mom, he won't stop!"
"I think I forgot my homework."
"Today is gym day. I feel a headache coming on."
As I struggle to get these kids to school in one piece, I begin
to notice things about the cars in front of me. I have been behind
these same cars countless time, but for some reason my cognitive
skills must've kicked in a little early this morning and I actually
begin to read the messages on the back of them.
[to top of second column]
 |
 I must add here that my cognitive skills have never been
top-rate, and they were just getting warmed up this morning. In
light of those facts, the messages were not comprehended as well as
they might have been by your average cognitively blessed person.
I saw a lady driving a Lexus with a poodle in the front seat. Her
license plate read: AEIOU-Y. I figured that this must be a private
tutor. Teachers don't get paid enough to drive a Lexus, and poodles
are too high-maintenance for someone who works all day. This tutor's
specialty is apparently making sure that her students know that "Y"
is sometimes a vowel. Very important work.
Miss Tutor turned, and in front of her I read a bumper sticker
that said, "Nothing runs like a Deere." I snickered. Right. That's
why he's driving a Jeep.
As I approached the elementary school, the Jeep pulled into the
parking lot and I read the license plate that was now in front of
me: IMATCHER. Could this possibly be someone who compares the
emergency rooms of hospitals for the rest of us? ... Or maybe she's
a teacher who's an incredibly bad speller? Since we were pulling
into a school and not a hospital, I had to assume that it was a
teacher. Since my child is a fairly good speller, I also assumed
that this wasn't my child's teacher.
Back on the main road, I nearly rear-ended a guy driving an
expensive car. I should've been able to read what kind of car it was
since his bumper was inches from my face, but all I could read was
his license plate: THBOXINK. My muddled mind determined that he was
trying to tell us that the box, his car perhaps, has ink. Which
means it comes equipped with a pen, I think. No, no, that can't be
it. Who would brag about a thing like that? I may have to think
outside the box for this one...
Oh.
There goes the blond lady in the yellow Volkswagen bug. Either
I'm a little late or she's a little early because I normally pass
her right in front of the middle school. I'd better stop reading the
early morning traffic and start driving.
"Sorry, sister! You're not getting in front of me; I'm late!"
[By LAURA SNYDER]
You can reach the writer at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
Or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more columns and info about her books. |
