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The day will come

Published: Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2017 11:18 a.m. CST • Updated: Friday, Sept. 15, 2017 9:03 a.m. CST

Is there anything worse than getting a new driver’s license photo taken?

I remember the days when I was excited to see my new picture when I would renew my license ... not any more.

I didn’t celebrate a birthday this summer, although I did turn another year older. And on that particular day, my license was set to expire.

I’m really not sure why I put my trip to the department of motor vehicle off as long as I did — it’s not like I was going to get younger or thinner. I waited until almost the last minute. Heaven forbid I let it expire and have to take the test over again. Even after so many years of driving, I didn’t relish the idea of that.

But it’s done and over with for another eight years. Oh glory ... I can only image what my picture will look like then!

Besides, I need my license. I’ve almost come to the conclusion it’s time for me to take over driving duties when Mick and I travel together. Especially when we take Mel. (Oh, yeah ... we name our vehicles, and Mel is my car.)

Back when Mick and I were first married, I thought it absurd that his older brother’s wife always insisted on being behind the wheel when the two of them went anywhere in any automobile. It didn’t matter if it was in her car or his truck ... she captained the vessel.

I get it now.

I can’t say for sure if it’s Mick’s driving or just me being too set in my ways. Maybe a little of both.

Of course the first thing he does when he gets in my car is start adjusting things — how dare he! First it’s the seat. Next, the steering wheel gets tilted differently. Then all the mirrors get changed, and if I’m not in the car yet, my radio station gets switched.

Then, of course, there’s the matter of his driving.

It’s not like he’s actually a bad driver, but his habits after driving a police car, especially an unmarked Dodge Charger (also know as Black Beauty) for so many years, just aren’t what I consider suitable for my mellow “lady” car.

It may take me a mile to get up to speed when I enter the 65 mph highway from the stop sign on our road. When Mick is behind the wheel, it’s like he’s in a Dodge Viper instead of my Dodge Journey — trying for 0-60 in less than four seconds. However, once on the highway, he’s pretty much a “drive the speed limit” kind of guy.

I, however, am the complete opposite.

You see, Mel is like me — it takes us a little bit to get up and stretch. Those first few steps are generally slow, usually a little bent over, maybe even with a bit of a waddle until we hit our stride. Then we’re good to go.

I’ve forewarned my hubby about the questionable status of his piloting duties when it comes to me and Mel. I’m not sure if he takes me seriously yet or not. I don’t think my kids do, because they just giggle when I mention it.

But one of these days ... yessiree, one of these days ...

Contact Dana King at dking@shawmedia.com

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