Leaving Las Vegas

So I’m driving up the freeway on my way to Mom’s house today. Incidentally, I take the kids up to see Mom just about every weekend. I don’t ever really feel like gathering up the kids to make the thirty-five minute drive, but honestly, it always feels like the right thing to do. I’ll never feel like I didn’t spend enough time with her or like I didn’t help her out as much as I could have.

As I’m driving, I’m wearing this long-sleeved T-shirt under my other shirt, and the sleeves are a little short. What I do to compensate for the lack of length, (I’ve heard something before about over-compensating for a lack of length, I prefer to under-compensate for my lack of length) is, I take my hands, grab hold of the sleeves from the inside, and pull. (if it were only that simple) I perform the “pull,” and grasp the steering wheel with the end of each sleeve in hand. I suddenly appear as if I have no hands. And I’m driving.

It never seems like anyone turns to the side to nod hello, or make eye contact, or anything. I always feel a little strange when I’m a few feet from someone, and I don’t acknowledge his or her presence, even in a car. Maybe people are afraid these days; all the psychotic drivers n’ all. Today, driving for a few minutes as if I had no hands, was different. Eight drivers passing or being passed did double-takes on my handless appearance. One swerved a little.
I guess the point is, if you ever need someone to notice, if you need a little “extra” attention, just drive your car looking like you have no hands. They’ll take notice, I promise.