image via Google
"Here we go to Sunday school, Sunday school, Sunday school.
Here we go to Sunday school
at 30 miles per hour."
--- little ditty my sister and I made up and sang when we were kids
Riding in the backseat
of my step-great-grandmother's '76 Pacer
on Sunday mornings,
I began to question my belief in God.
I was only nine,
but Nannie took her time
little Baptist church on the county line,
with every minute being a thousand years
of swinging from ditch to ditch and swaying
to crackling honky tonk turned holy roller on the AM radio,
so I had plenty of time to think
of how the "tink, tink, tink"
of the right turn signal
blinking mile after mile
reminded me of Moses wandering around the desert for forty years
with the promised land forever
just up ahead . . .
and of how I would have gotten a map,
True story. To this day, traveling slower than the speed limit gives me felonious urges. Written for Mary's "pet peeves" prompt at Real Toads.