The First Step Is Admitting You’re Powerless
Hello. My name is Janis and I’m a car-a-holic..
By Janis Hisrch
Know these warning signs!
It’s not that I love cars that much. I mean, I really really like mine and would kill for one of those new Teslas and wouldn’t kick a Bentley out of bed but no, I’m not that kind of obsessed.
My problem – and yes, I’m here to admit that I have a problem – is that I spend way too much time behind the wheel. Certainly not compared to a long-haul trucker or one of those crazies who drive across Africa just for bragging rights, but for a middle-aged (be kind!) woman who no longer even drives carpool? It’s insane.
What are the warning signs of car-a-holism? Sadly, I know them all and as a public service, I have listed them below. If you check more than two, I’ll save you the folding chair next to mine in the church basement. Get there early before all the donuts are gone.
YOU KNOW YOU SPEND TOO MUCH TIME IN YOUR CAR IF…
You get annoyed when you can’t find the cup holder on your desk chair.
You scream “Move your sagging ass, you old moron” at the person in the grocery store who leaves her cart for fifteen seconds so she can read the sodium content of the canned tomatoes instead of just grabbing whatever’s closest/cheapest/prettiest and sprinting on.
You become so aggravated because the guy at the front of the line appears to be ordering Starbucks for the very first time that you try to “honk” your purse at him.
You forget that you’re in a movie theater, fart and then giggle because it made a funny noise.
You’re out for a fancy brunch, drop a piece of muffin and think nothing of fishing it out of your bra, examining it, popping it into your mouth and then shaking yourself till your breasts are back home.
You’re in a crowded elevator when the Muzak cranks up “My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion and you sing along. Loudly.
You need a closer look to see if that’s lipstick on your teeth or your gums are bleeding so you pull down the vanity mirror only to realize that you’ve just yanked your medicine cabinet out of the wall.
You’re at a meeting when your underwear rides up even higher than it’s supposed to so you grab a handful and return it to its rightful place because no can see what you’re doing from the waist-down.
You’re sitting on your sofa slurping the last of your Dairy Queen Georgia Mud Fudge Blizzard and when you’re sure you’ve made all gone, you just toss the cup over your shoulder and loosen your pants.
There is no difference between the contents of your junk drawer in the kitchen and your glove compartment, right down to the trussing twine, a set of keys you have never seen before in your life and every appointment reminder your dentist ever sent you.
You stand in front of the door to your house, pressing the button on your car key fob, fully expecting to hear the front door go “click”, unlocking it so that you may open it and go inside.