All I do is drive, drive, drive.
I drive to work, drive to run errands, drive to the grocery store, drive to sissy's, drive to meetings, drive teens all over creation, drive my husband crazy.
I need a chauffeur. The Man won't apply for the job. He's already the gardener and the chef. And the housekeeper sometimes. I'm afraid being the chauffeur could put him over the edge.
K. went to the movies with some friends tonight and none of them can drive yet. As a matter of fact, one of the boys was a freshman. A freshman. He won't be driving for two more years. That does me no good.
Although, now that I think about it, she's not allowed in a car alone with a boy for quite some time, missy.
That means you-know-who ends up driving, at least one way. Some nights I drive both ways. I always offer to pick up. I like to make sure they all get home safe and sound.
I think 9:00 pm is a good curfew. K. doesn't agree with me.
I say, "You can't date until your 21." She laughs. Do you see the pattern here, people?
I might like driving more if I lived here - the isle of Corfu, Greece. I would flat out refuse to drive in the first pic - Rome, Italy. That place is full of crazy drivers, if you can even call them that. I don't think they actually test their driving abilities before licensing them.
I think the test is, "Are you breathing?"
"Great, here's your license."
[Except they have this conversation in Italian.]
Just a few more months and K. will have her license. Then the fun really begins. Ugh.