Capt. Tom, thinking did Nan kill the VW?
Tom, with the new car after the
Our VW rib-tickler!If ya don't like my driving, stay off the road
could've been my slogan when I was learning to drive.
Unlike most people who were driving at 16, I was 27--
bulging with expectant parenthood.
Not only was it a tight squeeze, between me and the
steering wheel, I was cursed with learning on a
stick-shift in my husband's original VW Bug.
While my daughter was busy kicking me in the ribs,
I was ready to stick the shifter! Frustrated that I wasn't
sequencing that well with the clutch, brake, gas and stick,
I'd decided that childbirth would be a hiccup compared to
learning to drive that antique.
Tom was an airline captain and I was expecting that he
was going to call ahead for special clearance--that an
erratically driving female was loose on the road.
I'd managed to run over a row of rosebushes, cut the
turn on the corner, causing a flabbergasted pedestrian
to jump back a few feet.
Finally, after many driving lessons, I was ready to get
my license. Lucky for the man testing my driving ills--
I mean skills--he passed me, out of sheer self-preservation.
I guess hormonally-challenged females, this close to poppin',
was something he didn't want to face--again.
It's a lucky thing I never became an airline pilot...
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