Who’s that crazy dancing driver lady?
No spoilers, please. We don’t want to embarrass her
I saw her today on the freeway: A white woman, unkept curls and sunglasses that made it difficult to tell her age from a passing car. Alone in her commuter hatchback, she sped with windows cracked and the volume high enough to just barely feel bass pump in her wake.
She danced for miles while she drove east on 80. She really danced — that kind of car dancing you see in movies and occasional fast food commercials but rarely IRL. If she had children, they’d be embarrassed. Her hands wagged out and up and out. She leaned into the beat, over the wheel, then away against the seat. Right shoulder dipped, hand gestured, chin wove. She smiled hard.
If she had children, they’d be embarrassed.
Other drivers noticed. A 50ish man in a red Dodge giant something-or-other pulled close to wave and grin. Grandmothers crinkled at her. Fellow ladies nodded their approval and maybe felt some envy because their grocery-heavy days hadn’t felt so joyful. This dancer-driver captured the emotion we all crave: happy abandon.
That driver was me. I hope I can find her again tomorrow.
