We’re running late. Laura’s driving. Fast.
Me: Don’t you think you should take it a little easier? The speed limit is only 65.
Laura: Sit back and relax. You’ll be fine. I know that I’ve got precious cargo on board.
Me: Maybe next time we’re running late I’ll ride in the back seat. It’s supposed to be safer back there.
Laura: Oh please. You’re still alive, aren’t you. And besides, one thing’s certain about my driving – you can always count on me to get you there faster.
Me: Get me where? Heaven?
A black Tahoe is zipping along in the fast lane. It’s going even faster than we are. Laura sees it coming in her mirrors.
Laura: Look at this guy. He’s putting me to shame. And he’s clearly perfectly fine.
As the Tahoe pulls even we notice that he’s not perfectly fine. His windshield is broken. His side-view mirror is hanging on by a wire. There are scratches down the side. And his bumper is missing.
Me: Perfectly fine?
Laura: I think maybe I’ll go ahead and ease off just a little.