Thank you, Deer.

I hate being in the car while my Dad is driving. It’s terrifying. It really is. Everytime we reach a destination, I get out and marvel at the fact that I’ve neither died nor pissed myself. He texts. He reaches for things in the back seat. He stares at shiny objects and colorful buildings on the side of the road AFTER WE’VE PASSED THEM. What the helll kind of fucked up driving school did you go to, Captain ADD? So one day, after an incident that involved a blind curve, a candy bar wrapper, and almost a ditch… I decided to speak up for myself. And instead of responding with the appropriate ” I’m sorry… My bad… That IS the road, and I SHOULD have been watching it”, I get a defensive bitch fest along the lines of ” I’ve been driving a lot longer than you have… This truck doesn’t handle like it used to… When have I ever gotten into an accident with you in the car…” Blah blah blah. And right when it sounds like he’s going to make a point or something, BAM! WE HIT A FUCKING DEER! You were saying, Pops? It appears as thoug the forces of Nature have intervened on my behalf. You are a terrible, horrible, very bad, no good driver, and that poor deer died so I could make that point to you. Me: 1 Padre:0 Deer: Fucking dead. Thank you, Deer. Your sacrifice will never be forgotten. And Dad, take a ritalin next time we go somewhere together, or let me drive. Otherwise, I will take the damn bus and meet you there.