Poor people in the north. All that snow.
I don't mind snow, and though I gripe about it, I don't really mind cold either, but I get very cranky when the roads ice over--especially when it's black ice.
When we lived in Chicago, Greg used to practice driving on ice with his MGB. We'd get out in the middle of a giant parking lot on an early Sunday morning and he'd practice correcting for spins and loss of brakes. Fun times.
I kinda miss that old car. We put a lot of miles on that baby--and then I wrecked it. Yup. I admit it. I wrecked his beautifully restored, mint condition MGB.
We had just moved to Texas and realized I needed to learn how to drive because there was no public transportation in the city we lived in, and worse yet, everything was too far to walk. Not like Chicago, where you can hop a bus or simply walk to the neighborhood shopping district.
So I asked Greg to teach me to drive. Worst. Mistake. Ever. Wives, NEVER let your husbands teach you how to drive--especially if all you have is his vintage sports car.
Our marriage survived the driving lessons and soon he was taking me out into the boonies to practice on more complicated terrain. We stopped at a stop sign and being a stick, he warned me to give it a little extra gas when I hit the clutch.
Unfortunately, we were on a gravel road, and I gave it too much gas. I gunned it, scrambling off the gravel and across a ten foot ditch making us instantly airborne. Who says cars can't fly?
When we landed, I plowed through the woods, missing EVERY single tree in this forest. To this day, I don't know how I missed them all. It was like being in a mine field. I just kept turning the wheel until I ran out of trees.
I kept hitting the brakes, but I wasn't slowing down enough. Greg pulled up the emergency brake and pulled the keys out of the ignition.
All this happened in a matter of seconds. It is taking longer to tell you this story than it did to occur--it happened that fast. When we finally stopped, we just sat there stunned. And I started crying!
Not because I was hurt, but because I knew I had murdered his much loved car. Greg noticed the smoke coming from the hood and he jumped out and rushed over to my side to help me out. I remember he kept asking me, "Are you hurt? Are you hurt?"
I kept shaking my head and crying. I KILLED his car. How was I ever going to face him again?
We'd only been married a year and like most newlyweds were still trying to sort each other out. I was absolutely certain that car meant more to him than I did. Let's face it, his idea of a great date was working on that car. What else was I to think?
But he showed me.
He pulled me out of the car and hugged me, so grateful I was okay. He asked me why I was crying and when I told him, he started laughing. "It's just a stupid car. You're the only thing that matters."
Cue: Big sigh. I knew I had a keeper then.
We got our car back from the shop six weeks later, but by this time I discovered AUTOMATIC TRANSMISSION. Why did no one ever mention this modern miracle before? I loved it and in no time I was giving Greg a run for his money.
As a matter fact, many years later, I was driving his car and one of his friends saw it on the road. He didn't know it was me on the wheel and he teased him and said: "Man, you were hauling the other day. You were going so fast, there was fire streaking from under the tires."
I was busted.
To this day, I won't speak to that guy. (Kidding, but I do give him the evil eye.)
Who taught you how to drive? Stick or automatic?
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