Thankful Cars Don't Come With Secret Microphones

My daughter, on the verge of becoming a teenager tends to complain. A lot. In fact, often it seems she only sees the negative in everything, especially as to how everything seems to impact her. Being the ever intolerant mother of the constant whining, I set up a rule. It was simple. She was only allowed to complain about three things in a day.

Either she or my son decided that she who invents the rules should also have to live with them. While I don't complain a lot generally, I do suffer from an abundance of "color commentary" when I drive with respect to the driving skills, or lack there of, of other drivers who I encounter on the road. The children, or as I like to refer to them, Thing 1 and Thing 2, quickly decided that the rule of three was good also for me. They decided that I could only make three negative comments a day about other drivers. What was the penalty? Why they claimed I would have to pay fifty cents for every additional offence.

While I haven't forked over any coinage thus far, they have started the count towards three many a time in the car. I am actually generally better about the comments I make when I know someone else is in the car.

This was not always the case. When my daughter was about 18 months old we were driving around and someone cut right in front of me, causing me to stop short. Two miracles occured then. One was that I was able to stop in time. The more impressive one was that I remembered Thing 1 was in the car and didn't utter the name which had come to mind with respect to the other driver. However, out of the backseat I heard the word "STUPID!" spoken forcefully by my daughter. Now where ever did she learn that?

As I mentioned, I do make an effort to withhold some commentary when others are in the car. When no one is in the car though, well, let's just say I am quite often politically incorrect. It got me thinking that if anyone ever secretly miked my car, I would be seriously embarassed by the stuff that comes out of my mouth. For instance, while driving home today, a woman in front of me inexplicably slammed on her breaks, coming to a nearly full stop. No reason, no impediments, nothing. She got the choice response of "thanks for stopping at nothing you jack#%*, I really enjoyed that episode of heart palpitations as I came within inches of your car." Don't worry, I don't actually say these things to the people involved. I am far too scared about road rage for that. Instead I have my own personal little venting session safely within the confines of my locked, windows rolled up, car.

Will I ever stop the car commentary? Not unless I am broadcast on some version of candid camera, perhaps "reality radio" or "mike time with mom." Then I would have to pay up, and more than fifty cents.