Monday, August 1, 2011


            I don’t like to drive.  I prefer to be driven.  (Especially after topping off that bottle of champagne on the night of my birthday). 
My dad made me wait a year and a half extra to get my license.  And after all that waiting, I still never got to drive his car and he sure as shit wasn’t going to buy me one.  Then I moved to college and walked everywhere and then moved to cities where you walk or cab it everywhere. 
Plus, the memory of when I needed a ride to school once and my dad told me to “take a cab” has stuck.  At the time I took his advice—had no choice, he wasn’t going to drive me.  I took a cab to whatever school event I needed to be at and although I felt horribly embarrassed to be paying a cabbie out of my allowance money, it probably looked a lot cooler to an onlooker than it felt…or at least I hope it did.  Come on isn’t that a good scene for a movie—kid getting out of taxi at her middle school to be able to attend eighth grade dance—isn’t it?  

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