Eat Shrink And Be Merry

If you’ve been reading our blogs faithfully since we started writing them back in March, you may have noticed that my sister enjoys poking fun at me about my inability to follow the speed limit while operating a motor vehicle. More specifically, she likes to make fun of my many speeding tickets that have resulted from this little inability/disability of mine. She says my idea of Cruise Control is someone restraining Tom from jumping up and down on Oprah’s couch in declaration of his love for Katie Holmes.

Yes, I admit that I like to live life in the fast lane, quite literally. My past is littered with ticket after ticket, though I haven’t had one in over a year. The reason is pretty straightforward: I blame it on astrology. I’m a textbook impatient, impulsive Aries. (My birthday is April 20^th, in case you wanted to add a reminder note into your Blackberry or Daytimer! I share this birth date, unfortunately, with Hitler. Ouch! You’d think my Mom could have held on for just another day.) Secondly, my day-sign according to Aztec/Mayan astrology (based on the sacred 260-day calendar originating deep in Mexico’s ancient past) is a Rabbit. Here’s what the Mayans say about Rabbits: Energetic, busy, nervous, impatient. A fighter and a joker, a contrarian. Need plenty of physical activity and exercise. Quite intelligent, but a bit paranoid, sometimes even wild. Pronounced liking for performance, games, risk-taking and daring feats. Ha! No wonder my pedal’s always to the metal! Those Mayans weren’t lyin’!

It’s just that I can’t wait to get from point A to point B, so I do it rather quickly. I’ve just gotta get there yesterday! I may drive fast, but I do drive safely, mind you. Everyone who’s ever been chauffeured in my car comments on what a safe, alert, keep-your-eyes-on-the-road driver I am, and I’ve never had an accident (knock on desk wood). Not to appear defensive, but there are lots of other people who drive fast, too. I know this, because I follow closely behind them to take advantage of the draft or drag or whatever that racing term is. The thing is, I seem to be the one who gets caught. It’s like the cops are all on the lookout for me, I swear. “Breaker, breaker. This is One Adam 12. We got a Tasmanian Devil comin’ at us. It’s our pony-tailed, ball capped, sunglass-wearing Polish friend and this time she’s doin’ 120 in an 80 zone! Call for some back-up!”

The worst thing ever was having to go to “Driving School.” You know, when you go over the demerit points limit, and they make you attend a two-hour session where they show films and lecture you about speeding and car crashes, etc? Well, I had to attend one of these sessions a few years ago, and it was not fun, let me tell you. First of all, I had to drive all the way to Pembroke (about two hours from Ottawa, and well, you know I was running late so I had to burn it to get there on time). There were 17 people in “the class,” and I was the only female. My classmates were all truck drivers and teenage boys. Our “teacher” was one of those stern and sturdy, no-nonsense types who was hell-bent on reforming all of us. First we would confess our sins and then we would repent.

She began by standing at the front of the room, glaring at each one of us knowingly and accusingly, and then carefully annunciating the following question: “The reason that we are all here today is… ? She raised the tone of her voice at the end, soliciting an answer. No one said a word. Everyone rolled their eyes. A kid at the back of the classroom snorted.

But she persisted. “The reason that we are all here today is… ?” Silence. Finally one of the teenage boys raised his hand timidly.

“Cause I got 9 demerit points?”

I eagerly thrust my hand up, like a crazed game show contestant, and shouted, “I got 12!!”

“It’s NOT a CONTEST!” Teacher glared menacingly at me, which she then did for the remainder of the two hours. I was toast! It was excruciating. So much for the lone female being the teacher’s pet! We all sat patiently and quietly and nervously through her lecture, praying that she would absolve us of our sins and free us to integrate back into society. She did, thankfully. Then I watched as the dust flew and the 18-wheelers squealed away from the parking lot. Obviously, the boys hadn’t learned their lesson at all.

I, on the other hand, buckled up, and slowly accelerated back onto the highway, cruise control firmly entrenched at 100. No way I’m going through that humiliation again. I was scared to death. If I keep going on like this, I could lose my driving privileges some day, and have to rely on bicycle, bus or even worse, my sister, for transportation. Not going there! Nope, I’ve learned my lesson. From now on, for my own good and for the good of other drivers, I’m a reformed speeder—a toned-down, increasingly patient Aries who abides by the rules of the road. I’m a Mayan bunny minus the super-energizer battery charge. I’m officially on the wagon—a very, very slow wagon. Hello, my name is Janet, and I’m a speed-a-holic.