I will travel far and wide in Europe this summer and will drive during part of the trip.
No big deal, right? I drive all the time. But I’ve never driven in the UK where they drive on the wrong side of the road. Whoa.
Why am I freaking out?
It always takes me a while to get used to doing something new. Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m a spazz. My tennis coach used to take my arm and move it through the motion of every new stroke. When I tried Zumba, I was shamed by the elderly ladies dancing the Samba for the first time.
Don’t get me started on my left-hand. I never know what it’s doing. Just last night, it held a key and I forgot about it.
“Where’s the key?” asked my husband, Danny.
“I don’t know, ” I said. Then I looked at my totally lame left-hand. “Ha! Here it is!”
The first time I ever drove, my dad sat in the passenger seat while we crossed the street to the humongous school parking lot. Only one car parked in the lot that Saturday afternoon. I had tons of room in which to take my maiden voyage in our Buick. I took long, slow practice turns around the lot. That one car frightened me. I closed my eyes to mere slits and cringed every time I drove past. At one point, I pointed our station wagon in its direction and drove at ramming speed. Continue reading