cars

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I Choose to Believe

Published 31 March 2012 by Miss Dilly

Every once and a while things happen that we’d all probably rather forget.  Now I love driving.  I don’t so much like getting where I’m going as much as the ride there. Looking out the window, watching other cars, listening to music, signing loudly and just the general act of driving- it all thrills me. Many of the lovely drivers who gesture rudely, yell profanities, go below the speed limit or cut you off and then brake here in the US surprisingly don’t really know how to drive roundabouts.  I don’t want to seem like I have a huge ego, but I know how use a roundabout (and if you think so anyway, don’t worry my actions should compensate for the audacity of my claiming to know how to drive in a roundabout).

So one afternoon I was driving a friend home, and we approach a roundabout.  We’re talking about Kirk and why he hadn’t called her back and I was enthusiastically spouting my theory that he probably actually had been abducted by Hannibal Lector, who was enjoying his brain at the moment (what little there was of it) with a nice Chianti. We had watched it recently and I couldn’t even walk her out to her car that night, so at the time it seemed like a possibility, I’m sorry.  Anyways, I slow down as I approach the roundabout, finishing up my theory, I didn’t see a car so I gas it, I feel the car sway a little as I make the tight turn.  There was an extra-long beat as I wait for her to reply.  I look over and her hands are in little fists, squeezed tightly and the expression on her face looks as if she’s just been accused of beastiality.  I look in my rearview mirror and there’s a little red car on my my tail so close that I can’t see their headlights with this girl driving who is rudely gesturing and making mean faces. 

I start to laugh, “where did you she come from?”  My friend wasn’t quite as amused, she doesn’t really say anything.  I say “they weren’t there when I pulled out were they?” She nods and looks at me like—as one would expect I suppose—I nearly killed her.  I shake my head and laugh a little uncertain this time.  I had been pretty sure there wasn’t anyone there, I wasn’t that into my silly story. 

I say “No, I don’t think they were.  Whatever, they weren’t.”

She recovered a little and laughed and shook her head saying, “Nooo I’m pretty sure they were”.  

I retort “I choose to believe that car was not there.” Case closed.  Now, we use that saying once and a while, try it sometime just say “I choose to believe…” and magically history uses a Pink Pearl eraser and gets rid of your life blemish.

So, apparently once and a while I am one of those drivers who don’t know how to use a roundabout, it was a sad day.  A scrape with death really wisens one, I learned how to make excuses and not take responsibility for my actions- it’s great.