I am the first person—and certainly the first woman– I’ve ever met who openly admits to being a terrible driver. Directionally, technically, mechanically: I’m bad at all of it and I will tell you so.
Just after I turned sixteen, the State of Ohio license examiner, who spent his entire professional life sitting next to sixteen-year-old drivers, shrieked as I cheerfully attempted a right-hand turn from a left-hand lane. Attempting to return home after a concert, I once bore down US 50 East into the next state before my parents explained to me, via pay phone, that yes, I needed to remain on this road to return to our neighborhood, but at some point I must turn the opposite direction from whence I came.