think nicely of me please

We leave the phone place. Everything is sorted. Maria has a new phone, the git who stole her phone has a lump of plastic, everything is good.

We jump in the car and set off home. The sun is out, the sky is blue, life is good.

So, do you want to take your driving test today?

On Saturday morning we'd had one of those "shit, look at the time, shit we're going to be late, shit where did the time go, shit, shit, shit" moments (a bit more mature than Hugh Grant's moment at the beginning of "four Weddings and a Funeral". The journey over to pick up the kids was a bit frenetic. Maria spent a lot of time swearing at other drivers and (how can I say this without sounding too offensive) I spent a lot of time pressing the invisible brake that exists in the passenger well. When she leapt out of the car to get the kids, I slid over into the driving seat. It was one of those moments when I was pretty sure that we weren't going to be in an accident but, if we had been, I'd have been a fool not to have slid over.

You do know you're not insured.

It appears that (think about this) when her ex was paying for the insurance I was insured to drive the car. Now that we are paying it, I'm not. Go figure. Only drivers with a Mexican licence are insured to drive our car. I don't have a Mexican driving licence.

So, do you want to take your driving test today?

Actually I don't. In fact, I don't want to take my driving test any day. I really, really, really don't want to take my driving test ever. Of course, I don't want to tell Maria this (let's hope she doesn't read my blog....oh). I don't want to get into a discussion about how I never want to fail in her eyes. How I am scared of failing and she will think less of me. I don't want to tell her that I am 46 years old and suffering with a memory that can remember what I was doing during the war, remembers what the price of eggs was when I was a lad, can name the England team from the 1966 World Cup Final but has major difficulty remembering if I have taken the beer out of the freezer, thirty minutes after putting it in there. (WOW, that's one hell of a sentence - I sort of forgot where I was going in the middle of it...I suppose that's ironic? Which of course, leads into the old joke: There are three things that start to fail at my age. Your memory and I forget what the other two things are.) There is no way in hell that I can take this driving test. It's not the driving - I'm pretty sure that I can do the practical side of the test. Hell, I'm dead sure that I can drive better than 90% of the drivers on the road. Of course, that statement is totally racist - it'll probably turn out that according to the Mexican Highway Code you are supposed to drive through red lights, honking your horn. But, it is the written part of the test that freaks me.

What about the written part of the test?

I say this dead casually. So casually that you'd think I was totally nonplussed. I am cooler than LL Cool J. In fact, as I say it, we are sat at a traffic light with the windows open and someone leans in and puts two beers in my pocket, confusing me for a fridge - I am that fucking cool!

You get ten minutes to look over the test. You'll memorise the answers.

I love her. I adore her. I know her. She knows me. We've been intimate (sorry if that's TMI). We know each other intimately. How the fuck doesn't she know that I can't even remember the number of our house. How the hell am I going to remember answers to a test in Spanish? She doesn't know me. She thinks I'm wonderful. She thinks that because I can remember the '66 World Cup team I can memorise answers to a driving test. How the hell do I break this to her gently? How can I tell her that I'm a bit crap? She might dump me for...for that bloke who put two beers in my pocket. He looks like the sort of person who could pass a driving test.

You know I'm a bit tired at the moment. You know, what with all the excitement about the phone.

She buys it. She glances over at me with that concerned look in her face. She tells me that she's sorry she lost her phone. She tells me that she read my post. Knows the stress I've been through. She tells me that she understands. I am so fucking cool. She'll never know (unless she reads this).

We'll do it tomorrow. Tomorrow you'll take your test. OK?

Tomorrow, 3pm Tijuana time - so that's 4pm PST, 11pm GMT - I'll be taking my driving test. I don't believe in god but I do believe in energy. I believe that I am a figment of your imagination. I only exist because you keep me alive (that's both of my readers). So, set your alarms, knot your hankies, magnetise a message to your fridge. Tomorrow, March 11th 2008, I need all the positive energy you can muster. Send out good thoughts. Send out positive thoughts. Pray (those of you who believe in a higher deity). Tomorrow I'm taking my driving test.

[Oh, and don't tell Maria I wrote this.]

Comments

[Helly]

I am quite sure I am a better driver than 85% of the a-holes that share my road, but I am not sure I could pass the practical, never mind the written, driving test. Here in Georgia, a major part of the practical is parallel parking. Hmpf! Parallel parking - I'm totally against it. And it's unnecessary anyway; big strong men will pick up your car and move it into the parallel space if you ask them nicely. And if you're not in a nice mood, you can TOTALLY threaten someone into giving you their normal parking space; I know: I've seen me do it.

P.S. I wasn't even born in 1966 so I don't know who was in the World Cup Final, but Maria is still younger and cuter than both of us.

[Blue Witch]

I'm not sure how much energy will be left for spells by 11pm, but I'll try. Good luck!

[(S)wine]

much luck.
i loathe driving tests.

[Nancy]

Fingers are crossed, refrigerator magneted - it's the best I can do. Good luck!