I almost died this week.
It was one of those moments when my heart palpitated inside my chest, my ass cheeks clenched, and I held on for dear life as the eldest gremlin yanked on the steering wheel and the car began skittering across the asphalt. Gravel crunched beneath the tires, and I managed not to yell any obscenities as my life flashed before my eyes.
As he got control of the vehicle, I could only stare at him with a bewildered look on my face. And as I tried to gather my scrambled thoughts, thoughts that were scrambled due to my brain being jostled around inside my skull, the gremlin looked at me and he started giggling like a hyena.
“What? Were you scared, bro?” he asked, in-between laughter.
My genius response… “Why didn’t you go straight?”
In my mind, there was a gravel road that went straight, which was what he should have taken since he was going too fast to turn safely.
With a smile plastered across his face, he said, “I had control. We’re fine.”
He was fine. I was not fine. Muscles I’d forgotten I had were already screaming at me. I’m not twenty years old, y’all. I’m almost forty. Forty-year-old muscles are not as resilient as twenty-year-old muscles. When one is strained, kiss the next month or two goodbye.
“We’re not fine,” I said as I released my death grip from the ‘oh shit’ bar. “We almost died. If you don’t know the road, slow down.”
And do you know what this fool’s response was? Take a wild guess…
“I do know the road.”
If I make it out alive, I’m gonna need an extended vacation after I finish raising these gremlins.