I can’t drive 35 . . .

Our Subaru had a glitch in the hood yesterday. So we had to take it in this morning. Trouble was: the now unsecured hood might fly up and force my husband to slam on the brakes.

“I’ll drive behind you because I know what to do,” I said, figuring I could time my stop.

He told me to drive in front instead. I’m guessing so we wouldn’t lose two cars on the way to the mechanic.

“What are the ethics of that?” I asked.

Of course it turned out fine. He drove very, very slowly,  and I watched in the rearview mirror for any snafus. I couldn’t have driven behind the wounded Subaru anyway. Driving that slowly makes me want to slam into the car in front of me, brakes or no.

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