In Which I Learn That My Sister Thinks I'm a Crazy Drunk Housewife

I was on the phone with my sister this morning, on the way to the Fancy Mart to drink coffee and blog (yeah, babe, I have a blog.) In the middle of our conversation, I yelled,

"Don't hit me, Lizard's Thicket!"

"Oh my God! You almost hit a Lizard's Thicket?!"

Did she really think that I a) was about to hit an actual Lizard's Thicket and b) was convinced that said Lizard's Thicket was actually moving towards me? In a word, yes.

In fact, 'twas the Lizard's Thicket van driver that may have been drinking at 9 am and subsequently plowed through a red light. I was merely demonstrating that I am my mother's daughter by talking to cars, even though neither they, nor their intrepid drivers can hear me. My mother talks to cars and it makes me crazy. For that matter, it makes her crazy. When she wants to change lanes, she doesn't use her blinker, an excellent communication tool, like they taught us in driver's ed. I don't think she ever took driver's ed. I'm pretty sure she learned to drive with her father, who was blind. Really. She would sit on his lap and tell him which way to turn the wheel while he worked the pedals. I'm serious. They lived in a very small town, so it's not as bad as it sounds, but still.

"Oooh! Blue car! Let me over! Jerk!"

The hapless Blue Car has no idea she wants to turn. He can't see her hunched over the steering wheel and straining towards the dashboard in an attempt to propel the car forward, because she has tinted windows. And he can't hear her objections to his cold refusal to let her into his lane. I feel sorry for the Blue Car, because he doesn't have a clue that he's the target of all this anger.

Maybe it's a good thing he can't hear her, because my mom can be scary in the car. When she's driving through her neighborhood and passes someone she knows, she waves and says (out loud, even though the windows are closed),

"Heeeeeeeeyyyyyy! Heh, heh, heh..."

It sounds like she's planning to toilet paper their house later. Or that she already has and they don't know yet. Or that she kidnapped their dog and is holding it hostage in the basement. My mom's weird, but not that weird and, frankly, not that energetic.

Whoa! Did you see that Hardee's that just flew by? This is making me nervous. I think I need to make another pitcher of Vodka Stingers*.

Namasté, y'all!

* Just so you know, a Vodka Stinger is made of equal parts White Crème de Menthe and vodka. Shake them together with ice and strain into a cocktail glass, or pitcher. Shaken, not stirred, please.