I said to my husband, “Let’s dance. We’ll never see these people again.”Read More
From my spot at Boston Logan, I count at least a dozen people dozing, despite the hubbub all around. There are three young people lying flat on the floor, unconscious. I can’t sleep that well on a bed in a dark, quiet room. I’m tempted to wake them up and ask them how they do it.Read More
"Don’t you have cruise control buddy," I holler at the other driver. "Set it and forget it!" I don’t think he hears me. I give him my “mean stare” as I pass him. I’m not worried about retaliation; I have the confidence that comes with tinted windows.Read More
I’m part of an elite group. Only about seven percent of Americans know how to drive a stick shift, and I happen to be one of them. If you aren’t and you want to be, you’ll have a tough time finding a vehicle to learn on, since only around five percent of vehicles sold in the United States have manual transmissions. I read it on the internet so it must be true.
I’d like you to meet my driver. Oops. Did I say my driver? I meant, I’d like you meet my husband. It’s an easy mistake; if we’re going anywhere, he’s almost always driving. And he’s very good at it. At least I think he is. I’m usually asleep when he’s driving, so I could be wrong.Read More