Driving Miss Laura

I'll admit it -- I am not the world's greatest driver.

My husband would call the previous sentence an understatement.

From the very beginning, I have had a tumultuous relationship with both cars and driving. Like most sixteen-year-olds, I couldn't wait to get my learner's permit. I recall well the day that a high school girlfriend and I went together to take the test -- the summer before senior year. She left with a permit, I left with a failed eye exam (didn't even get to take the written test!) and a bus pass.

It wasn't a big deal at the time. Plenty of my classmates and friends drove (and had cars!) and I never lacked a ride when I needed one. Plus, the university I was planning to attend didn't allow freshman to have cars on campus - and Philly had a good public transportation system. No worries.

But after graduation, it became clear that I was going to have to learn how to drive. My Pop felt certain that he could teach me. I was less certain, but slated to begin my first full time professional job, so figured I'd better give it a go.

Trying to teach me to drive turned my mild mannered Pop into a nervous wreck. First day out I hit a bank. An actual bank, as in financial institution. Day two I almost ran my sister over trying to back out of the driveway.

Professional intervention was needed - and fast. And multiple trips to the eye doctor -- who assured my Dad, that while I had certainly inherited Grandma Baker's eyesight (or lack thereof), the biggest problem was lack of depth perception -- for which I could learn to compensate.

This time around, Dad hired a professional driver to teach me, and my license was finally earned around the time I turned 23. If all was not "well" it was at least "acceptable."

Not quite 20 years later, my driving reputation seems to have become something of a legend among family, friends and co-workers.

Admittedly, my eyesight continues to worsen, and what was once a simple depth perception issue has escalated -- but I do enjoy being in the driver's seat.

My husband would rather have teeth pulled without anesthetic than get into a car I'm driving:

"You're following too close!"
"Hold your lane!"
"Are you actually aiming for those pot holes?"

And I've been accused on several occasions of simply pointing my car in the direction I want to go and "flooring it."

We were married only a few weeks when he borrowed my car and noticed the oil light on -- he almost had a stroke when I casually commented that it had been on for a few weeks, but I wasn't worried as it hadn't started 'beeping' yet... (in my defense, in that vehicle, that was how the low fuel light worked...)

I've gotten lost so many times that even my GPS unit appears to 'sigh' at me sometimes, along with repeatedly notifying me that it is "recalculating" again...

New employees at work are clearly "prepped" the first time they get in the car with me -- strapping themselves in and making the sign of the cross before I even have my key in the ignition.

I don't know what they are so worried about -- I can stop my vehicle on a dime -- and have proven it many times.

And I'd like the record to show that I have never been in an accident -- a few fender benders, but I am hardly a menace.

But today I turned over a new leaf. I allowed a co-worker to drive the two of us to Philadelphia. I've never seen him so relaxed. It was nice...I chatted, got some work done, replied to email messages, and just enjoyed the ride.

No near death experiences. No pot holes. I even learned a little something about Audi's (he has a new car).

I know the day is coming when I will probably have to leave the driving to others again. And I will be very sad that day.

But the collective sigh of relief will most likely be heard all up and down the East Coast.

Good night Mustang Sally!