Friday, March 22, 2013
Ten years ago, I studied for the Idaho driver’s test for days and days, and then I failed by one question. Luckily for me, the employee on duty looked like she walked straight out of a casting call for adorable, chubby grandmothers with hearts of gold. When she finished grading my test, DMV Grandma side-glanced around the office, and led me back into the test room, where she let me change a few answers (what are you supposed to do if you happen upon a funeral procession in Idaho?!). Anyway, I walked away with a shiny new passport to teenage freedom.
Somewhere in the last decade, I stopped driving, moved to California, and in 2011 my license expired. But last week, Chris took me to the DMV to see if I could get another driver’s license. I didn't even consider the possibility that I might have to take the written exam that day until I was actually handed the 38-question written exam by a distinctly un-grandmotherly DMV employee. At that point, failure was a foregone conclusion.
But guess what: I passed. And I have only almost crashed the truck twice since then.