On the way home from staying overnight at the in-laws last night (the Excellent Mother-In-Law was released perhaps just that little bit too early from the hospital), I composed the following bit of doggerel. It's to the tune of "Oh, Tannenbaum":
I hate to drive, I hate to drive;
It really makes me mental.
I'd rather go be skinned alive,
Or have procedures dental.
On turnpike, or on country lane,
It causes pain inside my brain.
Serenity doth fail to thrive:
I say again, I hate to drive.
It strikes me that Laura OLPH's husband, the excellent Professor Jack, does not drive. Perhaps he will relate... or perhaps he's never endured the exquisite torture of, for example, Route 21 in Newark on a rainy rush hour.