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
1 year ago