Commentary by Donna Monday
The following is true.
I’d have told you about it sooner, but I was afraid you’d report me to the local BMV. In fact, before you read any further, you have to promise not to do that.
I was backing my little white car out of my driveway. As usual, I was heading off to something important – probably the library or McDonald’s.
Then, “Eek!” I saw a huge black spider crawling up the front of my blouse.
I did what any God-fearing, spider-loathing grandma would do. I opened the car door and tried to knock the spider off. When he refused to budge, I leapt out of the car and REALLY knocked him off.
Which was a great idea except for one thing: I hadn’t secured the car in park.
My car was in reverse. Did I fail to mention that I live on Lafayette Road? My little white car was rolling backward. I was running. It was going faster than I was and picking up speed as it went. The driver’s door was still open.
I was chasing my car onto Lafayette Road when I saw a car coming from the north. By now my car was at about the stripe in the middle of the road. I started waving my hands frantically at the red car coming from the north, yelling, “I can’t stop it!” when I saw a blue car coming from the south.
Rats!
Now I am waving madly at both the red car and the blue one while my little car continues on its driverless journey across the street. There, on the other side, awaits a ditch.
In my mind I envision my little car crunched in the ditch. I love my car. It’s my home away from home.
Adrenaline kicks in. I run like I’ve never run in my life. I catch up enough to grab the wheel but can’t pull myself inside. I shove my right leg into the car and press the brake pedal. The little car stops just inches shy of the ditch. I slam the gear shift into park.
That’s the good news.
The bad news is that my leg and right arm are all of me that’s in the car. My butt is on the street. I’ve got a pavement view of the left front wheel that no one should EVER have.
From that position I gamely wave at the driver of the blue car. It rolls on – like nothing ever happened.
Don’t tell the BMV.
