Carrio Andretti

Carrie drives like a woman trying to outrun a nuclear mushroom cloud. I lose seventy five percent of my water weight every trip we take to and from the ranch, from my sweating palms. I try to read, I try to listen to music, I try to imagine the impact of the air bags, but nothing really soothes my safety first nerves. Yesterday’s trip home was no exception. Seeing that the car in front of us had slowed to a modest 86 miles per hour, Carrie decided some passing was in order. She moved to the right hand lane which lo and behold was ending. That’s right it was ending, merging with other moving traffic. She could have slowed down, accepting her place behind ole pokey who at this point had slowed to a 75 mph crawl or she could do the very Carrie thing which was punching it so when the lane ended she could be the first to merge and consequently the first to slam on her brakes to avoid the cars taking a Sunday drive in the fast lane.

For my part, during the actual passing I sucked in the biggest breath I could, curled my toes, gripped the arm rest with my sweaty palms and shut my eyes as tight as they would go. As soon as we were safely in the fast lane I let loose a tirade of insults about her driving. At one point letting her know that in all the time we have been together I wanted to ring her neck more at that moment than any other. Sure, she could have apologized for endangering me and poor innocent Isaac sleeping in the back, unaware of his impending doom. She could have even argued her point. Instead she put us in danger once again because I am sure there is no way she could have seen through the tears of laughter in her eyes. As an insult to injury she laughed about it all night. Next week I think I’ll drive and see if she doesn’t want to strangle me.