The day before Thanksgiving has finally arrived. Like most people I have a last-minute run to the grocery store. I owe that to my daughter who informed me she forgot she had promised to bring the green bean casserole. I don’t really mind the forty-five-minute drive. I have a playlist for that.
I drive across the ridgetop and the back country roads, in my mom car, a Subaru wagon, I zip through the tight curves with the music blasting. Let’s just say, I lose myself. Yup, in my head I’m actually behind the wheel of that fancy electric Porsche. Just like the one Keanu Reaves drives in the commercial, only I’m driving and he is sitting next to me jamming out to my awesome playlist.
Shouting out big woops and howls as we take the tight corners one mile over the suggested speed limit, we hit the straight away and I dare to push the needle five miles then six over the posted speed limit. We drift around one tight curve after another.
We laugh as we chair dance in the car and oh my god, next thing you know James Cordon pops up in the back seat and now we have a party. Singing and laughing we speed towards Middle Ridge, the last small town before La Crosse. This is when I see the sheriff parked in the church parking lot on the outskirts of town.
My foot hits the brakes. With that James and Keanu have faded as the needle quickly moves back down. My Porsche morphs back to the “mom car” and let’s out a sigh of relief. I remember that I am a fifty-three-year-old mom and perhaps should start acting like one as I nonchalantly drive by the officer who is giving me a sideways snicker. I am old enough to be his mother. Perhaps, he lets me slide by this one time, his mom drives a wagon too.
(Authors Note: This was done in haste because I really do need to get to the grocery store so please over look my bad grammar and mistakes! And do not try this at home)
Chris Writes 