I drive slow, but I drive on the right. Which still didn't stop some ass from coming up behind me *in the far RIGHT lane* and flashing his lights at me. What was I supposed to do, pull off onto the shoulder? The lane to the left was clear, he just didn't feel his Extra Super Special Procession to Wherever should be impeded by him having to shift his course.

SUV, of course. YOu may have noticed that I hate SUVS.

In Indiana the highways are straight and flat and empty.

Only by virtue of being in Abi's car and not my own did I control myself.

Had I the bread, I'd drive a sweet car like a maniac and just pay the tickets.

Oh, I should say--I have a new car! Or, new to me. Some friends are long-term-loaning me their Taurus until I can get my '79 Mustang road worthy again. This is the first car I've driven on a regular basis that was built after I got married. I'm having to learn how to drive an automatic again--not to mention the power steering. I nearly put myself in the gutter this morning turning to get out of my driveway. Plus I had to spend 15 minutes finding all the controls for the seat and the defroster and the headlights. So many buttons! And they're all mine!

So many buttons! And they're all mine!

Do NOT push the one marked "ejector seat" until you can ascertain that it's for the passenger side....

In Indiana the highways are straight and flat and empty.

When I moved out to Utah in '82, I went back to Pennsylvania so I could retrieve my car. Somewhere in west Kansas, the road unkinked itself to lay flat and straight for the next 300 miles. Not another car in view. I looked at my passenger and said, "I've always wondered how fast my car can go."

86 mph, fully loaded.

Do NOT push the one marked "ejector seat" until you can ascertain that it's for the passenger side

I keep channelling my father by looking at a button and saying, "Who the hell needs a button for that? Can't they open the trunk/move the seat/adjust the mirror by themselves?"

I think I am going to invest in a small hammer just in case I get caught in a situation where the power windows fail and I can't get the door open.

While I'm not proud of it, there was a time I settled down behind a Porsche with a radar detector on a midwestern highway and was going 105mph. The thing is, we got passed. Twice.

The thing is, we got passed. Twice.

90 MPH in Arizona. Passed by a cop eating a sandwich.

While I'm not proud of it, there was a time I settled down behind a Porsche with a radar detector on a midwestern highway and was going 105mph. The thing is, we got passed. Twice.

Yeah, those are the guys who should be proud.

Ex-Army Brother once got pulled over for running a red light because he didn't notice it, being so busy showing off all the controls on his new car to Dad and me. Controls that allowed him to adjust the thermostat, radio volume, etc. without looking away from the road, as he said at just the moment he breezed through that intersection.

Dad and I saw him do it, raised significant eyebrows at each other, and said nothing. It was too late for us to stop him, because we only saw it coming a split-second before he drove through. (Had Mom been in the car, she would've screamed. The rest of us only comment upon each other's driving when necessary to avoid an imminent crash or turn missage.)

When the cop pulled him over, we confirmed that yes, he had in fact run the red light. He got off with a warning--I think it was the combination of his very abashed apology and being a major in uniform just outside of West Point.