I guess I have to give him some props. I thought for sure he’d scoff at the dictum that said he could not drive and do so anyway. But he has grown a conscience at last and he has not driven. “I don’t want to risk getting pulled over,” he explained when I hinted he could probably at least drive up to Kroger or Wendy’s safely; they’re just about a mile away. I must have taught him something. Only a few years ago he would have defied the order not to drive. It’s good to know he’s got a sense of integrity. And of course I am glad to help him out. Still, it’s sometimes hard being the taxi mom again.
One thing is taking him to the gym. I’m glad he’s health-conscious and works so diligently to build up his muscles. But it puts a serious cramp in my day. It’s a good thing I’m not working right now. The gym is far enough away that if I drop him off for his one-hour workout, it’s no use going home because I’d just have to turn right around to come back and pick him up. A couple of times Spotty and I took a walk while he was working out, but Spotty seems to prefer our neighborhood to the other one. So I end up sitting in the car in the parking lot, playing my handheld video draw poker game or reading.
Never miss a local story.
Most aggravating of all is that he complains incessantly – about my driving, about other people’s driving. “Get closer. Don’t leave so much space between you and that other car. Don’t let that person in. Be more aggressive. Speed up. Don’t brake so hard.” I try to tune it all out but it’s not easy. I’m not the kind of person who would scream, “Look, shut up! I’m doing you a favor!” Maybe I should. Instead, I just grit my teeth and count down the days till he has his license back and I am free again. Only nine more days to go.