When traveling with my wife in a motor vehicle, it is with great hesitation that I am a willing occupant of the passenger side due to her inclination of applying heavy doses of gas pedal in any and all situations that ordinarily might require a bit more…finese…let’s say. Occasionally finding myself on the side without the steering wheel, I close my eyes, go to a happy place, and remind myself that while today may be the day that I die in a fiery ball of crumpled metal and burning gasoline, it is all a part of Gods cosmic plan so I might as well enjoy what time I have left. Or I just hysterically harangue her about tail gating, or weaving in and out of traffic like an Olympic bob sledder while she simultaneously texts and applies her makeup in the rear view mirror. For me the issue of nature vs. nurture is a settled one in the context of her driving habits. As evidence I submit a video of her late father practicing his profession on Lake Tahoe in 1962, two years before expiring in a fiery crash of his own.
If someday the posts on this blog suddenly stop without warning, you’ll know what happened.