Delia and I were on our way back from a jaunt to Target, and we found ourselves sitting at a red light in front of the Coliseum. If you're familiar with driving in Motown, you know that the far right lane there gets a green arrow at the next light. I always get in that lane, out of habit, I guess. Anyway, Delia and I were jamming out to her Plain White Ts CD, and the pop/punk guitar chords were coursing through my system something fierce. We had the windows and the sunroof down, and I was feeling like a kid again. I looked over and noticed the WVU student in his little red Jetta, and made a snap judgment, in that I assumed he was going to put on the speed and try to get in front of me so he wouldn't have to stop at the next red light. Little did he know, I drive a Turbo. I may look like the mother of a grade schooler (I hadn't really put the MILF look together just to go to Target), but I have dreams of Rally Car greatness. So when the light changed, I just matched Mr. Jetta shift for shift, without ever having to look over at him. I could have blown him away, but I didn't really want to get arrested with my kid in the car. I know it was a little immature, but I swear, I didn't even break the speed limit. (okay, I don't really know what the speed limit is right there, actually, but I didn't go over 50mph) He made the right decision and slammed on his breaks right before the light so he could get behind me and not have to stop for the red. If it hadn't been for the Silver Passat that had just turned out of the CAC, I'm sure Mr. Jetta would have barreled around me, but he was stuck. I let the Passat pass, I don't really need to drive down into town at 60 mph anyway, and then Mr. Jetta sailed on by. I hope he wasn't mad. Sometimes a girl just wants to drag race a little. Just a little.
Here's just a little snippet of the rock, in case you are unfamiliar.