IN AMERICA, WE DRIVE ON THE RIGHT HAND SIDE

Last night I had a very quick lesson in driving.  Before all of you judge me for not having a driver’s license, let me submit that while YOU were all learning how to drive between 3rd period and gym, I was traveling the world.  Let me also submit that some of my favourite people- including Audrey Hepburn, Lady Penelope, and Celine Dion, all have/had drivers.  Those favourites who drove themselves around include James Dean and Britney Spears- and we all know how that turned out.

Anyway, there I was in my parking lot, indicating, three-point turning and parking like a pro.  I even did a figure 8 around two lamp posts- backwards.  When, all of a sudden, I found myself on a main road.  You will all be pleased to hear that I refrained from swearing- but still had the awkward situation of being ON A ROAD.  I panicked.  And apparently when I panic I don’t notice lines on roads, and instead hug the snowy shoulder of the road.  My oh-so-patient driving guru (who had already noticed the cop behind me with his screaming blue and red lights- another thing I don’t notice when I panic) advised that I pull into the next parking lot, which I did- but swerved around the flower bed that separated the left land from the right lane.  Three guesses as to which lane my british mind chose to be in.  I parked in a parking spot-perfectly, I might add- and noticed the lights.

Legs turned to jelly.

Temperature rose to 110.

Heart struggled to escape my chest.

Lungs struggled to hold in the huge gasp of air I had sucked in when first realizing I was on the road.

I rolled down the window.

“Have you been drinking tonight?”  Drinking?  Alcohol?  For a second, I thoroughly considered admitting to it- as it really seemed the only logical explanation as to my dastardly behavior.  But I shook my head and very wistfully recounted my tale.  Thanks (?) to my lovely accent, it’s reception was…

… Laughter.  The cop was laughing at me.  I don’t know what I would have preferred- jail, or laughter.  He then told me to go about my business but to remember that “In America, we drive on the right hand side of the road.”

And so, I have resigned to the fact that I will just have to work very hard to be able to afford my very own “Parker” who will drive here and there, whenever I need, and in return I won’t die or be humiliated by a night cop.

Other self inflicted humiliations of the night include me tripping over a rug in Ikea, and knocking over my glass of ice water (ice chips shot in all directions) in a very posh restaurant in my eagerness to reach for my Godiva Cheesecake. Frown.

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