I think I’ve mentioned that I’m a slacker (or at least, a moderately reformed slacker) once or twice before. One of the funny things about being a slacker, apart from chronic procrastination and extreme ease with which we start projects and the extreme difficulty with which we finish them, is the fact that slackers have the unparalleled and ingrained ability to block out stress. It’s like having a blind spot – we can selectively “forget” complete (and usually important) aspects of our lives and la-di-da! live without a care in the world.
That is, until the mountain of unopened credit card bills hidden on top of your fridge spews all over your kitchen or that person in front of whom you completely embarrassed yourself (and proceeded to avoid and forget about for the last 6 months) ends up behind you in the grocery line, life is pretty darn swell and stress-free.
Which is how I had managed to avoid learning to drive our (well… Jonny’s) car for the last six years. Until last weekend that is.
We bought the car, a new standard Honda Civic (the uber-cheap variety), in 2004. This was after he got his first job as a university grad and also just after we found out I was pregnant with our son, James. We bought the car under the assumption that I would eventually learn how to drive it, when I decided to be brave and actually get my license.
I did get my license 2 years later and after practicing my slacker skills until they were honed to perfection, making excuses and not making the time to learn, I was going to do it. 2011 was the year. Gee golly, I was going to learn to drive that car.
And… I did. Sort of. Last weekend, my brave parents took all three kids for a sleep over (the baby for the first time) and Hubby and I went out for dinner. Afterward, I decided to live dangerously and told him he was teaching me to drive right then and there.
Jonny was shaking in his booties, but after the first few (extremely embarrassing) minutes I had it mostly figured out. For about 15 minutes, I felt like I could do anything – I had slain the most unconquerable of my personal dragons.
At least I thought I had. Until we were on our way home. That was when I coasted right through a stop sign, realizing THE BRAKES WERE NO LONGER WORKING.
I had killed them.
We had forgotten to put the emergency brake down and for the half hour I was driving around, the brakes were gradually getting more and more screwed. The car is in the shop as I write this. Jonny (the crazy and reckless) drove it there this morning. We’ll see what the damage is.
I’m honestly taking this as a sign from the UNIVERSE that I’m just not meant to drive standard and to heck with Goal #10. The first real time I go out to learn, after half a dozen + years of avoiding this nonsense, I almost get us killed? Well, maybe that’s slightly dramatic but honestly!
What do you guys think… Should I get back on the “horse”? Or is this a sign that I am just not meant to drive stick?
Update April 25, 5:00PM: I just spoke to Hubby on the phone and he has his car back. The grand total for damage is… $50 for the inspection, $100 for labour and $120 for each rear drum brake (?) which were both apparently totally warped. Plus tax. So about $450.00 for a half hour driving lesson. Damn!!!