My daughter, as of this writing, is 15.
As such, she will be eligible to get behind the wheel of an actual automobile and begin practicing her driving in the next few months. Please keep in mind my daughter has, on more than one occasion, tripped over her own feet so to say that I’m not looking forward to this in the very least is an understatement.
To add insult to injury, we’ve decided to enroll her in the same driving school that I attended. This will not end well for anyone.
My driving style can best be described as “OHMYGOD WHY ARE YOU GOING SO SLOW” and “THANKS FOR THE DIRECTIONAL, ASSHOLE.” I hate everyone on the roads – most particularly the people I’m driving behind.
The speed limit could be 30 mph, and I could be behind you doing 70 mph but if you’re in front of me you are still going too slow because, well, you’re in front of me.
Also, I’m tired of staring at your stick-figure family so there’s that.
My daughter and I are ridiculously alike. Meaning we both have an attention-deficit disorder and a short temper. This typically leads to us fighting with each other over things we can’t remember because something shiny went by 3 seconds after we started.
We are nothing if not entertaining.
As the date of her driving approaches, she’s started taking an interest in what cars she would like. I find this funny because if she thinks she’s getting a nicer car than the one I have (’94 Yugo) she’s fucking crazy.
My first car was a 1974 Ford Maverick that was stolen when I left my window down one day while I was working at a restaurant. I came out to find a vacant parking spot where my car had once been and promptly began losing my mind. I was sad about the car, sure, but more upset in the fact that I literally had a brand new pair of Reebok’s in the trunk that I bought earlier that morning.
The Reebok’s were actually worth more than the car but does insurance cover that NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
Chances are my daughter will probably get my car – a shitty Honda Civic – and I’ll probably get myself something nice like another shitty Honda Civic.
I guess what I’m saying is, please buy my books so I can upgrade to like an Accord or something thank you in advance.
I’m also accepting donations of valium and other muscle relaxers because I am absolutely the worst person to have in the passenger seat. Just ask my wife who spends the entire time yelling “OHMYGOD I KNOW HOW TO DRIVE” when she’s driving and by “driving” I mean “trying to kill us all.”
This should be a blast.
Teaching my daughter to drive led to some of the most terrifying days of my life. Let’s just say that she failed her first driver’s test when she neglected to stop at a stop sign TWICE. The second time there were people in the crosswalk in front of her.
I emphatically wish you Good Luck with that.
Luck is not necessary. I’ll be on Vicodin, God willing.