If you know me (and I'm just going to go ahead and be honest about the current readership of my blog--you know me), you probably also know that my driving is a hybrid of that of a gum-chewing teenager and a squinting, hunched-forward old woman. It doesn't help that I look just a few months shy of my eighteenth birthday and that I drive a 1996 Buick LeSabre--no doubt a "friendly and cheerful" car, as my uncle puts it, but also definitely a grandpa car:
Luckily, the good people of North Dakota have put in place a system designed just for such a driver. I've faced a few tough decisions, most definitely. Last night, for instance, I had to call upon my tractor protocol knowledge to decide whether or not I should go around a tractor on a gravel road. (I actually discovered that I possess no tractor protocol knowledge, so if you know the answer to this, let me know).
In general, though, North Dakota driving does not even rate on the same driving stress scale that Chicago is on. Within the city proper, the farthest to possibly travel seems to be about 2 1/2 miles, and the parking spots are so wide that I have the option of parking either straight or at an angle (I generally waver between the two and park as though perhaps I chose to go Irish with my coffee that morning). What is more, the fastest posted speed limit is 45 miles per hour, and on any given street I can drive 25 miles per hour without one person sending dirty looks, honking, or swerving around me. One time the person in front of me decided to drive 17 miles per hour on a major roadway, and everyone just rolled with it. My mother and I encountered one aggressive driver--and quickly noticed that his license plate read "Da Bears."
Speaking of which, if you're looking for a new Sunday Night Football drink tonight, might I suggest the eternal favorite: Clamato and Miller Lite? You can buy it either as a six-pack or mix your own. Nothing says "Go team!" like clam juice, tomato, and lite beer.