Val the truck driver

Lately I have come face to face with my sailor-like driving habits.

Normally, only Dave drives in the car with me. However, on several occasions lately, others have ridden with me - including coworkers from the suburban firm I have been working at this summer, and my good buddy Ed - and both parties amusedly commented on the bad mouth.

Funnily enough, the firm coworker thought my outbursts were the influence of a certain foul-mouthed paralegal we work with, whose near-constant stream of filthy language is a source of amusement at the office. However, I assured him, my road language is the result of many long and arduous journeys on Chicago roadways, not to say my parents didn't have anything to do with it. ;o)

What's more odd is that talking on the cell phone with Dave seems to make me more aware of my street-mouth than when he is in the car. I suppose it must be odd to be talking on the cell phone with somebody, and on the other line you hear them scream:

"No, you're not getting around me, you f#@ing f@$k!!"

or...

"What the s#@t are you doing, a#$head??"

And kindly, Dave says all he can say: "Dear, I hope you're on the road."