Life in the Fast Lane

So, yesterday afternoon, as I was driving down the Beltway in my sporty li’l Mazda Miata at speeds in excess of, er, sixty miles per hour, it suddenly occurred to me that I was driving (read: hurtling) down the Beltway in my sporty (read: teensy-tiny) li’l Mazda Miata (read: practically a toy car!) at speeds in excess of sixty (read: seven—er, fine, eighty) miles per hour (read: way too damn fast). And with that realization, a shock of unadulterated terror like I have never known (not even when I jumped out of that perfectly good airplane that one time with only a hot foreign dude—oh, and a parachute—strapped to my back!) jolted through me. I’m not talking about a pang or twinge of fear. Uh-uh. No. TERROR. IN ITS SHEEREST FORM.

Through a haze of blinding panic I caught a glimpse of the enormous wheels of a semitruck as they rolled past my window—taller than my car and mocking me, all, “Toy Car, I mock you weeth my rubbery enormity! I weel roll you down and squash you eento pancakes, yes?! Oh, ho, ho!” Sparing only a millisecond of surprise that the semitruck’s tires were apparently French imports, one hand flew involuntarily to my chest with—I can only imagine—the ostensible purpose of keeping my suddenly pounding heart from bursting—blappidy BLAP!—straight through my ribcage. Beads of sweat—cooled immediately by the crisp, conditioned air—broke out on my forehead. I could barely hear the radio over the accelerated hammering of my heartbeat, pounding in my ears— pounding, pulsing, rushing, racing! Danger! Panic! Good lord! I was all in a panic! Cars! Everywhere! Big cars! Semitruck wheels! Towering over me! With slightly dubious French accents! I was going to die! In my sporty li’l Miata! DIE, I tell you! GAH!

And… BLAM! Just like that, the terror vanished, replaced with a sudden wave of euphoria so strong, so sweet, it sent waves of chills up my spine. It was the most curious thing. Every nerve in my body seemed to be tingling with exhilaration. I mean, I was whizzing down the Beltway in my sporty li’l Mazda Miata at top speeds! TOP SPEEDS! WHIZZING! ME! FOOYAH!

With that realization, I turned off the air conditioning, rolled down the window, let down my hair, and cranked up The Jeep Song by Lee Coulter, which happened to be playing on the stereo at that very moment. At the top of my lungs, I sang along with Lee as I left those pompous semitruck tires in my dust.

“…making people stare, she’s on her way… she’s on her waaaaaaaaaay!”

In other news, I’m pretty damn certain I will be trading in my sporty li’l Miata for a big-ass SUV. Like, IMMEDIATELY.

Just so you know.