My Car, My Choice

Imagine ...

I have a car. It is full of things from my life - papers, books, guitar picks, empty candy wrappers, loose change, extra dog biscuits, and so on. It is decorated according to my taste, with bumper stickers, fuzzy dice, etc. I keep it fueled and oiled, I have the engine and brakes and tires checked on a regular basis.

I have to get somewhere. I decide to take the highway.

I go above the speed limit. I weave in and out of lanes.

Another driver reacts to my driving, loses control, crashes, and dies.

People try to blame me.

I tell them I'm not to blame. I was not driving that other car. The driver did not keep out of my way. He had no right to use my lane.

I was just driving my own car. I had places to go. I had things to do.

Don't try to oppress me with antiquated traffic laws.

Don’t tell me what I can do with my car.

As for critics who don’t drive or own a car: No car, no opinion.

I am driver, hear my engine roar.

My car. My choice.

Keep your regulations off my carburetor.

Pax et bonum