This girl picked me up the other night and when she arrived, I hopped in her backseat like I had just ordered an Uber . At first she thought it was funny, but quickly became upset when she realized I wasn’t kidding.
She must suffer from amnesia and forgot about the last time I sat up front. Let’s just say, I didn’t do much sitting. I felt like a paranoid New York City pigeon with my head a constant swivel trying to address any potential and immediate danger.
I told her that maybe if she stopped driving through my neighborhood like she’s Cruella De Vil looking for a litter of Dalmatian puppies to skin into a Peacoat, maybe I would reconsider
As of right now, I wouldn’t trust her driving me around in a Tin Lizzy at Darien Lake, let alone ride shotgun in her Toyota Scion with shotty mechanical work from a crazy ex-boyfriend.
She’s bragging about getting a bargain. Meanwhile, the guy probably loosened all the wheel bearings on her tires and put a kink in her break line after she bled the poor prick dry. The real problem is that some women like to multitask when they are driving.
You ever ride in the passenger seat with a girl who is putting on her Mascara while simultaneously trying to merge onto an interstate highway on-ramp going 60mph? You grip your seat so tight your knuckles turn white. You feel like you’re at the dentist getting a cavity drilled out of your skull.
If a girl has two glasses of Pinot Grigio at dinner and gets control of an AUX cord on the ride home. There is a good chance you’ll be eating the dashboard for dessert.
They call it, “riding shotgun” because a gun is the only comparable unit of measurement to describe how fast your body is going to fly through the windshield after she side swipes an SUV after trying to send a Snapchat.