Blog Chocolate

Driving Miss Sunshine

Something you should know about me is that I think I have a pretty good idea of my own strengths and weaknesses. In fact, maybe what I am best at ... is admitting what I am not good at. You may loose all respect for me with this next confessional, but it will lead to one of those stories that my self-mocking sense of humour felt compelled to share. You see, the number one thing that I completely, totally, sincerely suck at is ... driving.

I failed my drivers license test twice when I was 16. Being a book worm, straight-A gal, this was one massive blow to my artificially inflated ego. I was also a passenger in not one, but 2, really serious, get-your-name-and-picture-in-the-paper, kind of car accidents when I was about 18 (seems I come from a whole circle of bad drivers). My embarrassing lack of driving prowess coupled with these drama-filled accidents, made me pretty skittish to say the least. As soon as I moved to the city and could survive by subways, street cars, taxis and my fabulous set of gams, I gave up driving all together. I knew I was the kind of driver that could incite road rage of epic proportions, in even the most mild mannered elderly cruiser, and so I thought it my civic duty to refrain from being on the streets.

My hubby and I took a, much regretted, detour to the suburbs for a short while, where I had no choice but to get behind the wheel again. Because for the first time in more than 10 years, the only place I could walk too from our house was to a gas station. And why the hell would I want to walk to a gas station?! Scared out of my mind, and dreading the idea of driving after more than a decade, I decided to take driving lessons. The driving school administrator totally didn't know what to do with me. "So let me get this straight. You've had your license for more than 15 years and you want to take a driving course?" "Yes that's right. Don't judge me. Take my money."

So since then I have been set loose on your streets again. And although I am not quite as abysmal as I once was, driving is still not my fortay. Now that I am a mom, I am pretty safe while transporting my precious cargo to school. When he isn't in the car, my only focus is to avoid the wrath of the road ragers. You know who you are. You are probably reading this right now trying to guess If I was that crazy that cut you off yesterday. Hope not. If I was (eyes batting sweetly), I am soooo sorry. I am well aware that I'm that woman you love to hate. The place to release all your stress and frustration that has been built up during the day on that effing inept driver in front of you. Its a tough job, but somebody's got to do it.

One of my prevailing big challenge these days is parking. I cannot park to save my life. Hate it. Will drive for blocks to find the easiest spot. When we gave up our SUV last summer it was the happiest day. We are about to get a new car and one of my only criteria is that it must have a parking sensor that beeps. Mr. Good Taste, who is a total car guy, couldn't be less thrilled about that.

This morning, I had to take our current auto in for service and tried to park in one of those deceptively tiny spots while 4 mechanics and sales guys stood watching me. Laughing. And pointing. One laughed so hard he had tears streaming down his face. Part of me wanted to hurl some witty sharp comment at them. I almost even resorted to the damsel in distress flirting, but after my feminist rant yesterday, that was out of the question.

So following my masterful 76-point-turn into the parking spot, that bestowed so much amusement on my audience of car-guys, I gracefully got out of my car as though nothing unusual had happened. I didn't so much as look their way and cooly, calmly and oh so confidently walked towards the dealership door as they watched me ... trip .. and fall flat on my face. Applause ensued and through the cackles and guffaws, one of these fine men told me I made is day.

Did I mention the other thing I suck at ... Coordination. Sigh.

Golden Girl

I have officially just joined the "ma'am" ranks.

On Friday I was invited to speak at a mentorship luncheon held by the university I once attended. I was seated with some current undergraduate students and a few fairly recent alumni. When they introduced me to speak, they shared that I graduated in '95. At my table afterwards the young women eagerly announced "Wow. You are a '95 grad. You look good for your age". For your age! No, that is so NOT a compliment to a 33 year old who still considers herself a sassy young woman.

Then these dewey faced gals asked if we had email when I was in university and positively freaked out to learn that we didn't. The reaction was priceless. You'd think we had to use smoke signals to communicate. Now realizing they were in the presence of an elder, they proceeded to explain everything in the conversation that they thought might be too current or hip for me to understand.

My new perky friends sealed the deal by proclaiming they were only 10 years old when I graduated. Alrighty then.

I guess there is nothing left than for me to mushroom-cut my hair and take up with the Golden Girls. Just call me Sophia.