a confession

Anyone who has driven with me will tell you (behind my back or in front of me) that I'm an aggressive driver. I drive too fast. I drive too close....Let's just say that Owen spent our first two years of dating clutching the passenger side door latch in a white knuckle grip. Now out of the corner of my eye I see him just barely resisting.

But I had never and I repeat NEVER been in an accident that was my fault. Not one that was even sort of my fault but I could blame someone else. I've been rear-ended once while driving. Otherwise my other accidents were just as the passenger. Oh fine! Drag it out of me. I did hit a parked car my first day driving solo in high school. And not just any parked car but my high school's varsity team van.

In my defense I was taught to drive in a place where a turning lane is called 'the suicide lane' by a man with a thick Worcester Mass accent that demonstrated the skills we needed to pass the driving test using his cigarette box as the car. He drove that little Marlboro car all over the dash of his 1985 minivan to demonstrate parallel parking, 3-point turns and all the essentials. Then we'd mimic as best we could while he chain smoked, screamed at us and over-using his teaching brake.

But today it happened. My clean slate is dirty! Filthy! I was late for a class at SVC. I missed the prime opportunity to blast down Dexter and was livid with myself. I waited at a light packed with slow (wimpy) drivers and construction and potholes... until finally it was my turn. The light was turning red. I didn't care. I blew through it narrowly avoided a woman in an Acura making an incredibly lazy lane change and bam. Right into the back of a black VW station wagon.

There was no damage to either car and traffic was so stand still we exchanged information while waiting at the next light. But I'm still heart broken. I can no longer claim, while cruising at 65 in the 35 launching off speed bumps or riding the bumper of someone on I-5, that I've never been in an accident.


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