Nebulous Mooch

Okay, so here’s the truth. I’ve been here for nearly a year and still haven’t started driving. I drove when we visited Florida for the Christmas holiday, but I’ve managed to avoid getting behind the wheel of a car in England. Isn’t that pitiful?

Part of the problem is that I don’t really like to drive. I never have. In New Jersey, you can’t get your license until you’re 17, and I was in no hurry to get mine. I think I was forced to learn to drive by my parents. They were probably tired of driving me around everywhere. Even after I learned, I hardly ever drove.

My mother’d say, “Why don’t you drive around the corner and get some things I need from the store for dinner.”

“How ’bout I walk around the corner?” I’d always say.

Then my reluctance to drive was fear mainly. I was inexperienced and terrified of getting into an accident. While I’m still terrified of getting into an accident, I have to say that now my reluctance is more laziness than anything else. I’d much rather do something other than concentrate on the rode when I’m in the car.

I’m considering hiring a driver. I think that would be a good solution to this problem. I could climb into the back seat of our 13-year-old Peugeot 106 that sounds like a tractor when you start it  and say, “Driver, take to the grocery store.”

“Right away,” he’d say. He’d wear a black suit, chauffeur’s cap and white gloves.

That would be great!

My husband doesn’t like wearing a suit, but maybe I could get him to put on a chauffeur’s cap and white gloves when he drives me to the mall this afternoon.

Some of you might be interested in reading the many comments that have been left on this post.

Many of you who have television heard about all the snow that fell here last week. There was quite a bit of snow. Schools were closed for three days. On Monday morning while children joyfully frolicked in a winter wonderland, I was filled with dread.

We have pay-as-you-go electricity that we hadn’t topped up. We’d spent Saturday in London and by the time we got home we were tired and didn’t want to go anywhere to buy electricity. Sunday was Sunday and we didn’t get any electricity then. We’d planned to get it on Monday morning, but when I looked outside and everything was covered in snow and the streets were void of cars, I panicked. Then I did what any normal panicking person who was about to not have electricity in their home on a cold snowy day would do, I went back to bed.

I lay in bed staring at my husband until he finally woke up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“There’s a lot of snow and more is supposed to be coming. We only have £2 left on our electricity and then what? We’ll have no hot water and no heat and no electricity. We’ll be snowed in with no electricity. I’ll have to turn the oven on to keep up warm.” I could barely hold back the tears. I’d really worked myself up by this time.

“I’m sure the shops are open. I’ll go get the electricity now.” He and my stepson went out in inappropriate footwear–we’re from Florida and unprepared for this kind of weather–to get some electricity. It only took them 15 minutes to save the day. Men are good for something after all.