When I was 8 years old, my family moved from the city of Calgary...
{~~home to my favorite hockey team, (Yay Flames!), the Calgary Tower, and the infamous Peter's Drive-In~~~}
to a not so bustling town in Central Alberta...
{~~Where EVERYONE knew your name AND what you were up to.}
Driving into town one day, I remember sitting in the front passenger seat .... watching in fascination as my sweet mother impatiently rode a (very slow) truck's bumper.
"Country Bumpkin!" she muttered.
Being 8 (and from the City), I inquired to what that was.
"This farmer in front of me! They drive so slow out here.
Now we're from the city, so we're called City Slickers!"
From that moment on I was determined to keep my status as a City Slicker.
Never a Country Bumpkin would I be.
This going so slow wasn't quite as much fun as the pace we had come from.
~~~~~
Fast forward about 30 years, and yours truly is trying to maneuver her way through a bustling city at rush Hour last week.
Shaking.
In near tears.
And horrified at the rudeness of fellow human beings as they drove their vehicles past and nearly into my own.
I was stunned. And appalled at the impatience.
When I finally did reach my destination in one piece (and the weakness in my knees passed), I couldn't help but chuckle and wonder:
just what all those City Slickers thought of my driving that day.
