1. Sixty is as fast as the car in front of me is going and the limit is 65. Why can't they go faster? Are they trying to save gas or something? Drive a Prius then! I need to go 80 and I know from many years of experience that this is one stretch of highway where you can go 80 and get away with it. I need to get away with it.
2. Of course there aren't any spots left in the parking lot at the preschool. These other mothers, what do they do all day that they can arrive early to pick up? Why can't I get there early, or let's be honest, even on time? I imagine a day when I'll turn in to that lot and have my pick of parking spaces. I park in a handicapped spot and hope no one notices.
3. At the gate to the preschool I realize I'm one of three or so moms; the rest of the women waiting are au pairs. Their broken English is sweet. They are all horribly skinny, wearing tight jeans and cropped, puffy jackets. They are all smiling.
4. I buckle my girl in the car and we take the long way home, skipping the highway in favor of the tree-lined residential streets of a neighborhood we don't live in. The speed limit here is 25. When I see my speedometer creeping past 28, I gently press the brake pedal.
5. On the way up the hill my four-year-old asks, "Mommy, why aren't you going faster?"
"Because it's not safe," I say.
"Oh," she says. "So now we're safe?"
"Yes, now we're safe."
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