Slow Down

There is a certain, almost magical, power you lose as you age. You become mortal. The power that allows you to live forever, immortality, disappears. I am not saying I am old...I'm not. I’m explaining that, with time, you realize that your, once immortal, self is weakened and cannot withstand feats of near-death stunts for cool points. For example, with age, we learn that trying to see how fast your old jalopy can go and gunning the gas to try and make the speedometer reach the triple digits defines the absence of intelligence not the presence of coolness. We, ol' fogies, also think of the cost it will take to fix our old jalopy for attempting this cool factor stunt, because trying this stunt will inevitably lead to our jalopy breaking down. With age comes responsibility. With responsibility comes lack of cool points. My cool factor has come down considerably with age, but I’m still alive. That’s gotta’ count for something.

My neighbors are known for their driving skills. We have many young ‘uns and they love to rush home, pushing forty through the neighborhood…as I once did. We also have many fine feathered-hair retirees who love to let drivers know that they are speeding. I, my fellow bloggers’, am one of the wannabe' young ‘uns. Yes, I still race home almost pushing thirty when, I know, I should be going twenty-five. I am living on the edge, people. Better watch out!

A fellow feathered-hair retiree made me aware of my wild ways, one day. He was sporting the topless look with plaid shorts, knee-high white socks, and loafers when warning me of my speed. Where was Carson Kressley during this straight guy’s time? Oh, but I digress. As I sped by him, at twenty-seven miles per hour, he signaled for me to slow down. Yes, with age comes responsibility. So, I promised to slow down to the speed limit…every time I pass his house.

Week two came and, as I approached his house, my Olivia danced around twenty-three miles per hour. To his dismay, I had not slowed down enough and he was compelled to wave his arms about in order to catch my attention and persuade me to slow down. After much thought, I decided that I should slow down. After all, there are a lot of parked cars, walls, bushes, and trees that can become a hazard and provide blind spots. We do have children and, at twenty-five miles per hour, there is still room for mishaps.

I had become proud with myself. By week three, I became the MOST responsible adult you could have seen driving in a neighborhood. Pushing ten miles an hour in the neighborhood and frustrating every car that followed behind my Olivia, I made sure that there would be no mishaps with children and happy old people. I knew that my fellow neighbor would be excited to see my newly changed ways! As I drove by his house, he fervently signaled to me and mouthed the words “SLOW DOWN.” My jaw dropped. I could not believe what happened. There is no pleasing him! So, I held both of my hands up, while steering with my knees, and mouthed back “10 MILES.” How dare he imply that I’m not a careful driver!

Three weeks I had dealt with that ingrate. I acknowledged his plea and followed through. Would he have preferred I parked my car outside the neighborhood and walked home?!? Heck no! I wouldn't do that. I'd get run over. All of those bushes and parked cars are hazards...not to mention those crazy young 'uns speeding through the neighborhood. There's no way that I would have done that. The more I thought about the situation, the more infuriated I became. So, I decided…no more. I would not play his game anymore.

Week four came and I was done pleasing him. I still drove ten miles per hour in the neighborhood. It was, after all, a good idea…a safe idea…a responsible idea. I am older and I need to be responsible. So, of course, I didn’t plan on speeding up. Plus, travelling under ten miles per hour gave me the opportunity to listen to my favorites songs for a longer period. This drive, however, would be different. As I drove by his house, I slowed down. I cruised by at three miles per hour. Ol’ fancy shorts stared me down and I shifted into neutral. This would be my game, now. I waited for the perfect moment. I revved my engine to show how wild and crazy I could get…then I peeled out at seven, almost ten, miles an hour.

I have to admit, I earned my cool points that time!