Call Me Granny

We got stuck behind a pokey driver this morning, doing 35 in a 55 mph zone. Couldn’t get around him because of the double centerline, so cars were lining up behind us.

I wanted to scream because I like to do everything quickly. Wasting time is not an option for me.

“Why doesn’t the old geezer speed up?” I asked my husband.

“We don’t know a geezer is driving that car,” George said.

“It has to be! It’s against the law to go that much under the speed limit and the people behind us are liable to think it’s our fault, that we’re the old people who don’t know how to drive!”

“I don’t care what people think,” George said, “which is obvious since I’m driving a car that says Call Me Granny on the back of it.”

Oh, yeah. That’s right. A gift bestowed on my little SUV by friend, Tracy, is a license plate frame that reflects those very words: Call Me Granny. (Is it any wonder that George prefers to drive his car rather than mine?) The words give fair warning that the driver of the vehicle could poke along–or drive like a bat out of hell.

I guess since I’m old enough to have reached Granny status I’m entitled to do either one. Perhaps I should allow the geezer in front of us the same freedom.

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *