Took Mom X to the auto-body shop today: they took her neck brace off a few weeks back and pronounced her broken neck healed, adding, "Drive when you feel you're ready."
She was heap ready on Monday and went out on a long. complicated set of errands; got about half of them done and stopped at a drive-through for a cool, refreshing soft drink (or a milkshake. She loves 'em. Who says the fun ever stops?). The place is known to have some nasty tight turns and Mom hung up her 19[redacted] Fricken Boatmobile-Superba on the curb, then attempted to bull on through, resulting in minor paint removal to a Hardy-McKingFC lamppost and serious front and rear door smashage plus a side-mirrorectomy on the driver's side of the car, all at 5 mph or less.
She's none too happy about this, but after a couple months of not driving, in a huge car, navigating a fast-feeder set up for Minis, Fiat 500s and Yarii, I doubt I'd've done much better.
Anyway, I drove the thing up to the body shop with Mom navigating, got the estimate (!!!), stopped off at a different fast-feeder for forage (no names, please -- let's just say they sell well-cooked Roast Beef), took Mom home, and drove my car back to Roseholme Cottage where I shortly learned I'd arrived barely in time to avoid ruining my jeans. ($40 Carhartt Double-Fronts, painful to replace.)
See, right there are two good reasons why I rarely* do the drive-through thing: they'll tear up your car and/or your innards.
* Rally's, of all places, sells a nice old-fashioned ice cream cone that occasionally calls out to me irresistibly -- I'd stop up my ears and have the crew lash me to the mast 'til we were safely past but the cats don't drive well.
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
11 months ago