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Life in the fast lane? It's not for me
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By Anne Marie Scanlon
Sunday Jul 20 2008
WHEN I was six, I thought being a grown-up would entail little more than wearing blue eye shadow and swanking around with handsome young men in sports cars. That was a long time ago, and thankfully, blue eye shadow has since been outlawed in most civilised countries. Unfortunately, sports cars haven't. When a Much Younger Man (MYM) with a Lotus invited me out, my inner six-year-old was thrilled. Now I know why they were so obsessed with the correct way to get in and out of cars during the Sixties. Only an underweight six-year-old could manage it without looking like a gom.
When I'd finally squeezed into the passenger seat, MYM floored the accelerator and my hair and earrings flew out behind my head in a straight line, as if I'd just stepped into a wind tunnel. My face was doing that shaking jelly thing you see on rollercoasters. Not attractive, but who cares how they look when they're busy praying to every deity, including the ones Terry Pratchett made up? As we hurtled along, overtaking slowpokes doing only 60 and swerving around tree trunks, I had a moment of clarity. There was a time I wouldn't have cared, but all I could think about was Jack. What would happen to Jack if I were killed or seriously injured? Which would be worse? For Jack never to know his mother, or to spend his childhood wiping my bum instead of the other way around? I asked MYM to slow down and he said he was "taking it easy" adding, "Wait till next time." There won't be a next time. Forget fast and furious, it's slow and stately from here on in. Now I just need an ould lad with a Bentley.
- Anne Marie Scanlon
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