We used to drive to Georgia and back.  We lived in the northeastern part of Virginia and we probably could have done it in a day, but we were a family of four, and it took us two days.  My father drove the whole way, we stopped at the same sorts of places and made a very regular routine out of it.  I would call it a fetish but I don’t want to paint negative shades.  We liked to repeat.

I remember once sitting in traffic on the interstate.  Our lane was clogged, but the lane next to us was wide open.  I’m not sure why this was; presumably there was either an accident or a lot of people trying to get on and off at the next exit.  We weren’t trying to get off at that exit though, so I told my dad to swing out into the other lane.  I was surprised that he would let us sit in the slow lane for so long.  I was eight or nine or maybe older.

My father found it quite funny.  What an absurd thing, to swing out in the lane like that.  I said all kinds of things and this was held up by family as one of those things I would say.

But I change lanes quite often now, like any normal adult.

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