I drive like a mom (borderline-grandmother, depending on the weather) in my beloved, gas guzzling SUV. Why? A) I could adopt TWO Haitian children with how much I shell out to Shell in a month so I drive with a foot like a feather to avoid speeding through a tank, literally, B) Gas costs and neverending Deep Ellum parking citations are enough; can't do tickets right now; cop lights alone spawn immediate ulcers, and C) Slow, relaxing, karaoke seshes in the Envoy are pure bliss. Kenny G at 90 mph just doesn't work. But this does not mean that I never get feisty on the freeway. I take full advantage of the new 75 mph thing, and GMC pedals always hit the metal on US-75, thanks to Dallas drivers being animals. Therefore, I'm not wrongly accusing the PTA prez of driving "aggressively" because I'm not offended by road ragers. I pass people all the time and vice-versa. But this minivan behavior wasn't normal, especially for a minivan, because I couldn't see her front plate (which should be 'B1A-TCH'), so she met moronic driver status after crossing that comfort-zone-on-the-road line. And my 90's country jam was rudely interrupted by soccer mom Sally who was basically in my back seat, and making me uncomfortable. I refuse to provide anyone with a concert on wheels, let alone mean myrtle in the minivan.
However, soccer mom Sally finally passed in frenzied fashion once we hit Rockwall. But she was a reckless dumb dumb... and didn't see the silver Ford boxcar also yielding on while she quickly wipped around... resulting in minivan's grill french-kissing boxcar's ass. Yep. In a split-second. Karma don't play! And my front row seat to this golden rule show served as a reminder that negative, aggressive energy brings sh*tstorms and higher car insurance rates. Positivity, like aggression-free driving, brings ya puppies and rainbows. What goes around comes around is the mantra of mantras, from what I've learned at least. And I'm not sure what Franky in the Ford did recently to deserve that whiplash, but surely science schooled silly Sally. (say that six times aloud...)
Lastly, I'm not trying to channel the facetious Regina George here. It was a medium fender bender that didn't make the news. Speeds were maybe 40 mph for the Ford and God only knows what Lightning McQueen clocked in at. And as a concerned citizen, and morally-mediocre human mindful of how karma works, I mumbled a genuine "bless their hearts" after gracefully passing that hot mess. And I like to think that my stress-free Friday night spent laughing and away from reality was karma being like, "here, homegirl! you've earned it!" So I watched some good improv, bonded with my Juan Direction troupe faves, chatted up half my Ewing family, watched glorious State Fair/Big Tex/Big Tex burning scenes, (I freaking love the fair so this was magical) witnessed RAM in Galveston and their last show ever, and... Mike Maiella hosted. And all I can say is that he's also a national treasure that can grunt or randomly throw his hands in the air, in the middle of an intense Ewing practice or even walking down a random sidewalk, and everybody lolz. So add 'Mike Maeilla' to your bucket list. AND I made it home alive despite my brakes being completely out; my decision to not (ironically) brake-check soccer mom Sally worked out in my favor twice, really. #blessed
*I've been plagued by insomnia for the past three days so my bad for having no desire currently to google cheesy minivan or buddha stock images for your viewing pleasure.