I just dumped the last of five other women out of my car after a week together at St. George’s Island; she would have been the first out, rather than last, had I a choice. The first, would also have been the first. In other words, two of the women were a royal pain in the ass. And their pain-in-the-assedness digs up a question: whether, when and how one lets the pains-in-the-ass know their offensiveness.
First, I had a truly happy time with most of these friends; and even the annoying had their strengths. My stomach muscles pain me still from laughing so much about nothing at all. We lounged about watching huge families of dolphins, swam in the blue gulf, biked through the scrub oaks and Chinese palms and generally talked so nonstop that my voice is gone. I learned more than I knew before we left our driveway and came to respect each woman for this new-found knowledge.
But I hesitated hard before I—the last to do so—signed on for this girls’ trip. One woman, Sal—the last out of my car—irks everyone with a self-absorbed personality type. Another, Maddy—the first out of the car—finds life generally, and this woman specifically, so irritating that she can ruin any moment with her mean-girl tactics. And then there’s me: just as annoyed by the know-it-all, butt-insky, but I am also a champion of anyone bullied, even those for whom I secretly am squashing my own drive to bully.
So on one hand I wanted to ninja-kick the arrogant, pretentious Sal. I barely stifled my roll-my-eyes-till-they-burned reaction just as the other women did when Sal spoke. But when Maddy trotted out her hostile reactions—critically mimicking Sal or complaining just loudly enough to be overheard by Sal about how much Sal was killing her—I’d step up and say, “Stop!” or “I can’t do this. That’s enough.” Thus, allowing myself to be pissed, suffering between these women’s issues, and making myself a target for Maddy.
At first, I tried my best to smile and suffer through. Sidebar, we are in the 12-step program for those who love a person with a drinking problem, so tempering Sal was not my place. We have strict MYOB policies, and unwavering Let Go and Let God sayings. Sal also had a sponsor present, so the role to tell Sal to chill and tone down her personality really was not mine. However, said sponsor was doing nothing publicly to help Sal. Sal is a woman who shoots her own social foot off all the time apparently, and her sponsor is a gentle, let-me-build-up-people’s-self-esteem-with-love sort of woman. So instead of saying, See here, see how these people walk away from you because you. . .Sponsor Lee gives her a hug.
(Come to think of it, Lee hugged me plenty too, this week. Hmmmm.)
Yes, at first, I tried to live and let live. But as events unfurled in a particular order, the sliver in the heel became infected, so to say.
Sal herself had told me three weeks before, with a chipper, sarcastic tone, “Thanks, K, for once again correcting me. You’re always correcting me.”
What she meant was I don’t agree with her all the time. That issue? She had been detailing a blind date she had gone on, explaining how all her decisions were based on a book about dating. She refused to do this or say that because Steve Harvey told her, “Wait to see what the Guy will say when you remain quiet,” or some such nonsense. Thus, Sal was complaining that when she left blank spaces, the man did not jump up and fill them.
I piped in and said, “Maybe he has a book. Maybe his book was telling him to keep his mouth shut. . .”
That’s my foible. . .soothe the stress with humor. Hey, not only did this inspire a giggle or two, it might very well have been true. But Sal didn’t like my response. Not only had I disagreed with her decision to test this guy, I drew some of her audience away: I was not letting her talk nonstop while we sat at her feet to learn.
Then later that same luncheon, when she mentioned how her second husband had taught her to be a “sex object,” her very words, a few others made guttural objections, but only I spoke out and said, “Do you mean a sexual being? Or do you mean sex object?” She retorted with her sarcastic, “Thanks, K!”
Well, pardon me for correcting you!!
And meanwhile, at that same lunch table Maddy loudly, harshly bolted because she was already sick of listening to the ongoing, dating chronicles of Sal. I often wonder why Sal does not seem to notice Maddy’s hostility and the rest of us do? Is she deflecting? Is she oblivious? Though not happening to me, the abuse makes me feel awful.
Thus, from the very beginning of its unpropitious origins, I hesitated about going on this trip. Still, I went. The company of several of the women was worth the fallout, see?
We had been loosely talking about a girls’ weekend, a vacay. Sal had stepped up and started shaping the ideas into a trip to the beach (one of the women has a beach house.) She began envisioning a meal plan, with a week-long agenda of retreat-sorts of talks and activities set at specific times.
“Who can give a cooking lesson. . .? Who wants to do the art lesson?” And Sal excitedly began pointing out takers before they raised their hands. After all, as she cheerfully informs us, Sal has run retreats in her day.
The venerable homeowner, Heather tamped that control impulse right down, saying, “No, when people come to my beach house, it’s very chill, very loosey-goosey.” (Thank-Goodness, homeowner.) Thus, the result was supposed to be a relaxed, girls’ weekend with no intentions other than spending time with each other and the Island’s offerings.
When Sal arrived at my house before our sunrise exodus, she gushed about how much she loves women, swearing how spending time with women is so essential, then reporting how she has such good women friends in her other life, with a play-by-play of how much she loves them. I easily sensed her discomfort and anxiety, for convincing me that she is stoked to spend time with a group of women seemed ultra-important to her. I smiled and listened, guessing she was actually terrified.
Quickly, she isolated herself in the very back seat of my Fur Van, wearing headsets, or playing with her phone, while the rest of us talked and laughed. She did pipe in at different points to elucidate us or trump us on various topics. She also pointedly corrected me a few times, but that was fine. I don’t mind being wrong. I do mind being accused of someone else’s BS, by said BS-er.
Maddy was already grumbling loudly by now, irritated by Sal’s quirks, so I poked her a few times to quiet her. “Let’s just try and get along,” I mumbled. The rest of the drive was fine, actually fun, as we got to know each other more deeply and shared funny childhood yarns to pass the bland highway distance.
What I already knew about Sal from weekly lunches only became clearer as we unwound once at the beach house. She demands the floor, and believes “teaching” us is conversation. And Sal definitely suffers from “You spot it, you got it-ISM” when it came to her oath that I correct her all the time. Maybe I do, I do not know; but I am not alone in this behavior.
If anyone else introduced a topic, Sal was already an expert and would cut in, expound and rarely let the original speakers continue. If anyone did this to her, she would visibly react, twitch and flex. For instance, she introduced the animal game. Sort of a 20 Questions about an animal of your choice. She told us who would start, in what direction we proceed, curtailed anyone from asking incorrectly or from answering too clearly or too indistinctly. . .Must be Yes or No, people! Only one Question, Please!
Someone asked me if my animal had 4 legs. Well, my lobster had 8. Do I say yes or no? I said, “Both.” This threw Sal for a loop, and she kept telling me I had to choose one. I said, “Sorry. . .My answer is both. Yes and No.”
Her lips pursed, she seemed to take my rogue response personally, a violation of the rules, and argued for moment that I must choose, and then during her turn to quiz me, she kept asking a series of questions instead of her one and only one. Hypocrite. I playfully slapped the bottom of her foot and said, “One question, please.” Of course, there’s my sin of correcting her. I thought she just might pop as she tried her hardest to avoid expose her upset in front of everyone. I think the game spun out with only two more questions, and we were on to some other interest of hers.
Later, on the beach, Sal mocked and corrected Lee for pointing out the Ghost Crab holes: “HAHAHAHA. Those are umbrella holes,” she laughed.
Unthinking, I said, “Lee, you are right,” and pointed out the scuffs the animals make tossing out old sand; when I told her how they might even be hermit crab holes, Sal miffed, hurried ahead.
I learned: Do not give her severe Confirmation Bias that I always correct her any more food. Later, I secretly showed Lee a few pictures of proof that she was right about the crab holes, so poor Sal’s hair would stay on. “Shhhh.” I said. “Don’t tell Sal I showed you this.” Did I do so to prove Sal wrong? Perhaps. But I wanted to validate Lee. Plus, I also didn’t like how Sal had ridiculed Lee for her assumption.
When Sal went on and on about being an ENTPFJZZZZZ or whatever Myer’s Briggs parameters she is buying at the moment, telling us how we should get assessed, Lee was intrigued and wanted to know how to get ahold of those surveys. I said, again privately, to the interested party, “That stuff was sort of a scam, never scientifically developed, and has been disproved again and again. Don’t waste your money.” Lee nswered, “Tell Sal, why don’t you. She should know. . .” Uh, no. I said so privately, so Sal wouldn’t once again be corrected by me. . .though I recognize that maybe I am guilty as charged and there would be no harm in Lee figuring out her alphabet label. Meanwhile, though I am trying to respect her needs by now hiding my corrections, Sal was butting in here, correcting and condescending there, espousing over and beyond.
At one point, we were all participating in a healthy conversation about, uh. . .Blank. Sal who had not really been interested, suddenly left the room, returned with her Bible, interrupted and said, “I have a question for you all.” (We had not been discussing religion at all.)
Sal began reading a passage about Cain and Abel, and then asked her totally irrelevant question.
Heather the Homeowner answered, then Lee starts and was interrupted. Sal began intensely arguing and answering her own question, rereading passages, citing her deep knowledge since, as she reminds us all the time, she went to seminary school, effectively cutting off anyone else’s opinions. Lee who is a lifelong Spiritual woman, a former Carmelite, who can quote whatever Biblical passage you desire, was shut down, unable to share.
I could see it all over Lee’s face how much Sal’s actions dismissed her. I had no opinion about just why God rejected Cain’s offering, and know Sal doesn’t value my opinion anyway, so I left the table, though I did wonder if this topic about competition is at the very frays of her brain for a subconscious reason.
What were we talking about before that? I cannot recall. Clearly whatever it was bored Sal. Or it must have been something someone else was an expert at. . .Either way, at some point almost everyone had left Sal alone at the table gripping her Bible, immersed in her knowledge and interpretations. We start joking that she is the “Ask, then Answer” Queen. We are going to print T-shirts with A&A and wear them around her, but we worry that’s too close to AA; plus, we aren’t bullies, just annoyed companions. She wouldn’t notice or ask, anyway.
What worsens the experience is the tone Sal uses. She is like Sheldon Cooper in the way her social niceties have been donned as some sort of unnatural, the-right-way-to-behave outfit that she is forced to wear occasionally. She will nod her head emphatically, lay her finger next to her nostrils or on the tip of her nose, in a deep thinking pose as she leans towards you when she does actually let you speak.
Because she has learned somewhere that this draws people, she will repeatedly use your name when she asks questions, a superficial verification that she is listening. Awkwardly, her use is like a sitcom therapist: “So I hear, K, that you must not like that man, K. Is that what you are saying, K.? You don’t like him, K?” And on the edge of those sorts of questions, there feels like a glimmer of glee that she perhaps caught you unaware of yourself. (Though, let me tell you, I know when I dislike someone. Uh, Sal.)
She loves to define you. I mean afterall, she spends the majority of her time defining herself to you. “I’m the sort of person, I’m an EMJT, I’m. . .I’m. . . I’m.” Thus, maybe it is natural for her to stick a label in your face, as well. Dismissively, she says things like, “OH, you’re one of those people who place value on humor. . .need to laugh.” or “You’re a Natural Introvert” or “Your right-brained based. . .” Said like she is enlightening you about yourself, while also using the tone of some alien being who has just learned something about the human race. Ah, this human likes humor.
When she asks a personal question, she can convince herself at least she asked it, but more so, she can then talk about herself. And she never recalls anything you have ever said. I have told her the story of my son’s travails with ADHD and Dysgraphia more than once. More than twice. More than thrice. But when I go to answer her questions a fourth time, I’m sure that she immediately thinks of herself, her son, her deep, deep knowledge of the brain, as she begins inserting ideas about her adult child into my response.
Sitting in a local bar one night, Heather who had been cornered alone with Sal too often all week tried to begin an inclusive conversation about books over dinner; she asked me directly what titles we all liked most, and I answered briefly with two titles, before Sal butted in with wild enthusiasm, and spent. . .we clocked it. . .15 minutes writing down and detailing all this stuff for Heather like Heather was hoping to make a list instead of generate a discussion. Meanwhile the rest of us twiddled our thumbs, and joked about our Favorite! Books! Ever! Before venturing onto our own topic, abandoning poor Heather cornered at the end of the table.
On another occasion, when Heather was discussing how the wealthy residents around her were the philanthropic back bone of the island community, I began to tell her about these surveys in a book about understanding poverty, one of which was titled, “Could You Survive in Wealth,” that supported her ideas. Sal appeared, interrupted me and talked right over me, fixing my wording, and illuminating my point for me though she had never read what I was talking about, and had no clue what I meant. I never got the info out of my mouth, actually. Poor Heather was left alone again because, given no room for another word, the rest of us wandered away into another room.
I suppose it is Heather’s business to extrapolate herself, but we did make the effort before we abandoned her.
I began to suspect that Sal was/is grooming Heather to be her new best friend. After all, aside from charming qualities of being Heather, she has a beach house where Sal can hopefully bring those close friends she told me all about Day 1; perhaps, they are pliable women who will let her run her retreat, complete with an agenda of her own design. Plus, Heather has established writer friends who might help publish Sal’s master-work memoir. (No joke.) Did I not tell you how self-involved Sal is?
Or maybe I’m being unfair to Heather. Maybe the rest of us are so dull, and Heather so fascinating that Sal needed to glom onto Heather at every opportunity leaving little room for the rest of us to talk to her, or her to us. (Frankly, Sal did this to anyone any of us were talking to.)
Plus, I believe Heather never figured out that, though I did unthinkingly wake her up the first morning with my raucous laughter, soonafter, Val was the loud-mouth who wouldn’t adhere to our repeated, Shhhhh, Heather is sleeping. And when Heather griped about “K’s” inconsiderate behavior to Val, within my hearing, Val did not admit she was the actual culprit. Was her silence clueless or dishonest? Either way, I was as silent as a mouse, thereafter.
So, Reader, you can sort of understand why the Bully in our group was hungry to devour Sal. And no matter how harsh my wordy depiction here might seem, I am not the bully. In general, the consensus is that—though not without her charms and qualities—Sal is pretentious, self-absorbed, and self-serving (Though the same age, she repeatedly expected and let Lee wait motherly-like as if Sal were her teenage daughter). Is there a Myers Briggs alphabet for PSS?
You can understand how each time Sal exhibited these offensive traits, Maddy would add onto her list of grievances, becoming full-to-bursting with exasperation.
At one point, Maddy and I were unloading groceries. Sal came wandering up to the car, not to help, but to find something she was looking for. As we—the two women disabled with massively long, spinal fusions and accompanying titanium hardware, by the way— were placing some groceries just inside the house, Sal simply locked the van up and walked away. We were still in the middle of unloading.
This set Maddy off. From then on, whenever she thought she could do it, Maddy snarked sarcastic, pointed comments purposefully loud enough for Sal to hear. Yell up the stairs in case maybe her voice wasn’t carrying well enough, little, nasty tidbits of ire.
But here’s the question I am finally getting to: No matter how many of Sal’s prickly traits piled up, the rest of us were trying to stick to our principles. Let things go that did not matter. Be kind where it did. Mind our side of the road. This meant keeping quiet, or correcting in private or walking away when Sal began demanding all the focus from our hostess particularly and from us by happenstance, instead of saying, OMG, again! Again? Again, you have to do all the talking, Miss A&A? It meant pinching Maddy and saying, SHHHH. Or, Let’s just accept this is how Sal is. . .
After all, we have accepted Maddy with her intrusive need to help and her hairpin-trigger of taking offense.
But maybe our principles should have meant, minding our business and letting Maddy be the bad guy unchecked, and allowing Sal handle Maddy’s outbursts herself? Probably so.
The second day we were there, after I noticed Sal isolating during the car trip, and then mostly in her room. . .Even when we went to the beach, she showed up slathered in her sunscreen and swam away. . .I tried reaching out to her. Being the outcast hurts, even if your behavior is why you are cast out. Four of us share an easy, playful humor and can make each other laugh at the twist of an eyebrow, a clearing of the throat. Sal does not have this gift, and she probably knows it.
I asked her to ride a bike with me, and she was too deep in her journaling. I went into her room to show her some sunscreen she might like and begin a conversation about her writing. At dinner, I recalled that originally when she was trying to create an agenda for our trip, she thought she and I would cook together, I said, “Hey, do you still want to cook a dinner with me this week?” She perked up and suggested fish.
Someone else suggested a restaurant instead, and Lee, Sal’s Sponsor thought Sal looked crestfallen. Our chance to connect thwarted.
When Lee asked me to intervene in that regard, I thought she meant that I was right about how Sal was feeling left out, and was suggesting I take responsibility for her.
I said, “Lee, the person isolating or pouting can’t sit around waiting for others to come to her. . .she’s got to make the effort. . .I’ve already done–” and I listed my attempts. I know my husband, with his Sponsees, places the onus of ending isolation on the isolator. Still, I went to Sal and encouraged her to cook with me anyway when the chance arose. “We don’t have to go out.”
Later, she came to the beach with Lee and me. Of course, Sal did not sit with us, but went off to swim her brief, solitary laps. Meanwhile, Lee apologized to me for pushing me to reach out to Sal. She admitted that she loves her sponsee, but can also see exactly what prompts everyone else into walking away.
I said, “You know, as a teacher, I often see kids who truly want and need friends, but they do things that simply turn people off. I can always see what they do. . . and it’s so hard not to be able to help them. Sometimes I can say: ‘Hey, try deodorant. . .’ or ‘Try to listen more than talk. . .’ But sometimes you just can’t tell them what is offensive to others for the truth is too painful.”
Lee said, “Right, maybe they can’t change.” Lee is such a wise, kind person. Sal probably cannot change.
Sal came out of the water ready to desert us for the house, and I invited her to sit with us and chat. She threw herself into a chair, putting on her social-stage face, finger-by- nostril, leaned forward, elbow-on-knee, ready to listen. What I wanted to do was point out that I noticed she was isolating, you know, give Sal room to unload if she needed, but instead I got an anxious, defensive diatribe about how she only needs a few friends and she’s an EMJTZwhatever, and she does not care what people think, and she only cares about these few people we do not know, and the rest don’t matter, that she accepts herself as is, her art and her writing take priority over any person here, etc, etc.
I sat quietly as she spun out.
So much for the fancy, wonderful, I love-women weekend she was touting when we left my driveway. . .was she actually saying she didn’t really care about any of these women? For real?
What I wanted to say was. . .You can see, Sal, how that might be offensive? And Confusing?
What I actually said was, “Well, I have to wonder. You wanted to be close to these women and spend time with these women, wasn’t that the point of a girls’ trip?”
But defensively, like she thought I was accusing her of needing friends, Sal says, “NO, that’s just your perception. I was planning a retreat. Not a girls’ trip. There’s a difference. See, I’ve run retreats. . .”
Agggh. From the moment we mentioned any ideas of traveling together, she was imagining herself as the leader of a retreat and we were her disciples? Was she seriously hoping to shape us with her seminar topics from the very beginning and was only foiled by Heather’s sense of calm? Was Sal actually at one point planning the lessons we could each learn from her?
No, I’m sure she was isolating because she could sense that she was not a relaxed companion, nor a gifted humorist, nor an artist as several of us are, nor a happy chit-chatter, and rejecting us before she could possibly be fully rejected was a safer option than quieting down and giving us room to find her enjoyable traits.
Either way, I’m glad I tried, but I walked away thinking, Holy Toledo is she arrogant. And full of shit. And in desperate need of friends. Maybe that handful of women she spoke of in my driveway the day we began our journey do exist. I hope they do. I don’t have the energy to deal with this many layers of defenses, nor with this much pretentious self-absorption.
Yet, the next day, I could feel that maybe Sal heard me. She flopped into my bed that evening and said, with awkward enthusiasm, “What are we gabbing about, Girls?”
My roommate Katie and I would typically hit the hay early and then lie there making each other laugh, sharing family stories or debating politics, so we welcomed her in, scooting over and making room. However, once the bed began to fill up with others, Sal wandered away when she did not get the jokes. That’s okay. Some women are better in one-to-one settings.
Still, Sal tossed on her shoes the next morning and biked along with me (and Maddy, much to Maddy’s chagrin) happily relating to my career because she too is a teacher. I listened quietly, mostly, as she complained about the several school systems that have blackballed her from hire; meanwhile, I tried to keep Maddy from poking a stick into Sal’s wheels.
But after each of these small efforts to connect, Sal would revert right back to verbally shoving everyone out of the way, while she took her imaginary podium.
Ultimately on the way home, the final straw came at a Panera. Maddy wanted to lunch at a Chinese restaurant that was not open by the time we arrived. The push and pull in a group of women to choose a restaurant can be a pain. Uh, I don’t care, what do you want; I don’t care what do you want?
I kept my mouth shut, so did Lee and Katie. Only Maddy and Sal went at it, until six ideas later, Longhorn’s won out. However, as we exited the interstate, Sal saw a Panera and said, “Oh, let’s go there.”
All agreed except Maddy, who was livid, as she pulled into the Panera parking lot. I said, “I know. We decided and you should have said, ‘we decided already’ and ignored her, and kept driving, but you didn’t,” as I opened my door.
One of Maddy’s childish complaints is “How come everyone is irritated with Sal all the time, but they never say anything to her, but with me, when I’m irritating, you correct me every, single time?” She means when I pinched her gently for being cruel, or said, “Stop!” when she was voicing mean girl shit under her breath.
But her accurate observation does beg the question: Why do we openly correct Maddy for being badly behaved, but not Sal? Why is cutting us off, correcting us, stealing the conversation, etc. a lesser offense than fake-whispering something mean and hostile?
We sat with Sal to my left, Maddy to my right. Very symbolic. Somehow we get onto the boring topic of local hospitals. We seem to agree that Eastside isn’t as good as the other major one in our city. Sal asks pointedly, “How so?” It is not exactly her words that irk. It’s the imperial, professorial tone she uses. She might as well, have said, “Proof, and debate, children!”
We sort of sat there exhausted with ourselves and her. I sighed. I was too tired to respond. We had already agreed. What was there to defend? I took a bite of my sandwich.
Katie sighed as well, and said, “What? What do you mean ‘how so’?”
Sal asked again, “I hear that you don’t like Eastside, what makes you say that it is worse than Medical Center?” Again, the prove-it tone.
And here it is. Every conversation for her is a lecture, words are her control mechanism, we are all her learners. Who cares that I have taught far more years than she, and I’ve taught adult learners, yet I don’t talk like this to people. Being a teacher doesn’t mean one suddenly is a self-appointed sage. Who cares that we are all smart, educated women, somehow Sal thinks we simply do not know what she knows. “Educator” is her identity, and she relishes it, curries it, no matter how narcissistic, condescending or patronizing she must be to maintain that identity.
For a woman who brags about how well she knows herself, she is astonishingly unaware of how she affects her companions.
There’s a moment of silence where the rest of us eye each other in shared “Can you believe this woman” camaraderie. Really? Is she really interested in the fine points of which hospital is better? NO!
I feel the briefest moment of pity for the woman, for Sal is filled with cues and codes that are not natural and have no real foundation. She knew that to be involved in that conversation she had to generate more, that a good argument has evidence behind the opinion. . . but she had no intuition that we were tired, we were in agreement, we were only barely spitting out boring data, and had no intention, no need of dancing in her debate. Katie and I say a few things to be polite, only to satisfy Lee, Sal’s motherly sponsor. Sitting there in silence like Sal didn’t exist would have been too rude.
But Maddy? No. She seethed and began muttering hotly under her breath. Sal went to the bathroom, and Maddy let loose with us, another sharp complaint about how irritating Sal is and we all just accept it. I said nothing, and she jumped up and shot me a hostile comment. I said, “Hey, I’m just sitting here. I didn’t say shit.”
But Maddy was mad that she was the only one with the balls to say, “Oh, fuck off, Sal.” She hasn’t said that outright, but she’s done her best to make sure these thoughts are known. While the rest of us sigh and occasionally vent behind our hands.
What Maddy doesn’t understand is that Sal’s self-absorbed, social ineptitude is a personality flaw. An irritating, annoying and offensive at times, personality defect. Does she deserve a “Fuck Off?”
However, Maddy’s open anger and hatred is a character flaw, right? This belief that you can be excusably mean to someone who bugs you is a character defect. Personality defects do not have immorality at their core the way character defects do and in that view are more allowable, right?
While those two are off, the remaining perfect three people (I mean myself and the others) discuss this: Is it more acceptable to blindly offend others due to self-absorption or actively do so as a twisted form of self-preservation? In other words, open ignorance of how self-absorbed you are is a lesser offense than being hurtfully hostile to someone who bugs the shit out of everyone, right?
Yet. . .yet I did have fun with Maddy–and not Sal–most of the time. Maddy is hilarious, which allows her hostility room, sort of like a big, social point system that has been honed among women since 7th grade, where “annoying know-it-all, conversation hog” is always, always ranked below “fun, but cruel mean-girl.” But aren’t we over that, by our age?
After being trapped for eight hours in a car with this dynamic, I no longer cared about which moral argument prevailed, which offense was a lesser violation of morals. I was ready to boot both their butts out as soon as my car hit home. I didn’t even want to slow down first.
Steering with My Elbows 