Memoirs of a Fat Girl

Going back to school inspired me so much, I went the extra step to knock another challenged off my list. I called another school: driving school.

Welcome to All $ave Driving School

Learn correctly the first time
Courteous Instructors

Easy Payment Plan

Coffee & Treats
Free Pick Up

Not exactly the place I had in mind, but the first three I called were booked for the summer. I'd be a liar if I said the coffee & treats part didn't freak me out just a little. The coffee part isn't so bad, but treats? I can see it now:

Instructor: Look how well you parallel parked! On the first try! GOOD GIRL!

Me: WOOF!

The instructor flicks a biscuit; I catch it with my mouth.

It's not easy being a 30-something and admitting that I need driving school, especially because I already have my driver's license. Believe me, it's even more embarassing taking lessons when you're already certified. I've never been one to share my water bowl; sharing a brake is way beyond my scope of giving.

How did all this happen? After all, I started out good. I started out great. Got my license at 17, and was the only one in the family to pull it off the first time. Dad passed on his second try; Moms and Oli took the test three times.

I didn't do much driving for the rest of high school; my parents believed in studies, not a social life. But, when it was time for me to choose which university I'd be going to, Dad handed me one heck of a fat catalogue. To my raised eyebrows, he said, "Cars. Pick any one you like."

"On what condition?"

"Live at home."

It was very tempting, but not what I wanted at the time. I thanked my Dad, gave him back the catalogue and come September, moved away to school. I've never regretted my decision.

Didn't do much good for my driving, though. Years went by, and I didn't drive. Whenever I was home for the summer me and Oli did everything together, so we just took her car. Then when we worked together with Dad, we'd take her car again. More years went by. I lived in Europe without a car and, when I came back here, lived in the city. When you live five minutes from a subway and all major stops to everywhere, you really don't need a car.

I did save up many times for a downpayment but, once the money was in my hands, that insatiable little travel bug started buzzing in my ear. Oh, I gave in to some marvelous times. Call me irresponsible, but then I've never regretted any of my journeys, either.

So here I am, at the ripe old age of 11,335 days and counting, without a car and in need of, shall we say, "refresher" lessons. Mortifying. Last I remember, I swore like a truck driver and loved to speed. Here I come, All $ave.