Go Speed Racer Go!

Homer Simpson Vibrating ChairLast week I took my mother to my doctor’s appointment, because the doc wanted to ask her some questions about my prior history and so forth. I volunteered to be chauffeur for the half-hour drive, and mom and I caught up on things.

The doctor’s appointment was brief and uneventful, except when mom had to observe my colon exam. (Okay, I made that up. The doctor actually checked my testicles for lumps.)

Mom was quiet on the way home, and about ten minutes in I asked her what was wrong. She paused, then said, “You drive really fast.”

I slammed on the brakes, and mom’s head hit the windshield. I then verbally abused her while she bled all over her cashmere sweater. I stand by my decision.

I asked mom if she was serious, and she confirmed she was. I was a tad offended, not because she was wrong – she isn’t – but because she said it. I promised her I would slow down (a little), but offered her a viable explanation:

“Mom, I drive fast because I’m a police officer. We’re trained to drive fast. I also drive fast because I’m a police officer, and I can do whatever I want.”