I’m the most relaxed person you’ll ever see on the road, really.
I won’t cuss you down 30 generations because you’re driving too slowly, I’m not even going to get mad if your lights keep blinking at me for no reason. Your mocking looks as I pass you over? I couldn’t care less about them.
Heavy traffic? No problem, gives me more time to listen to music and jiggle around in my seat like jello.
I don’t care.
But.
But.
But.
Do not think for a second that you can force yourself into my line with your shiny mid-life crisis SUV without asking first.
I know what’s going on in your head; the road is a jungle, you see that laughably small car, driven by a pocket-sized ball of fluff bobbing her head to whatever music is blasting in the cubicle and you think you’re safe? You think you can barge into my line without having the decency to throw a look in my direction to see if it’s okay? You think I won’t retaliate?
Ha.
You don’t know this car, I do.
Ms. Twee-Twee has been passed down to three siblings, two of whom channeled their inner Michael Schumacher with her. I learnt how to drift with her. It is the car that popped our road-rally cherry, and she has the dents to show for it. She was our training wheels, before we moved on to cars that didn’t need superhuman strength to shift gears.
We’re accomplished drivers thanks to her, and to show my gratitude, I sometimes take her for a spin when I’m in town, for old times’ sake.
Ms. Twee-Twee has seen things.
Ms. Twee-Twee has fought in the Vietnam war.
Ms. Twee-Twee has survived the apocalypse and a global pandemic.
And while she looks like she’s going to sputter her last breath, I can assure you that she is healthy as a horse. So, do not think I’m not going to ram her into the over-sized brick on wheels you mortgaged your house to pay for. I will. I will do so without a second thought.
I don’t care.
Ms. Twee-Twee will live to bury us all while you bleed money to fix your discount Chad Car.
