It’s really a shame that House Management ever has to take you places, considering your general lack of self-awareness and indifference to the feelings and comfort of others, but take you places we must. We live in the suburbs, so this always, always involves a ride in the car. You suck at riding in the car. Let’s work on that, shall we?
- Carseats: You are small and easily tossed about and likely to be injured upon said tossing and, thus, require a car seat. At least, that’s what all the government agencies and advisory boards say is the reason. All managers of houses containing people like you know the real reason. It’s the only way I can gen ten consecutive minutes without anyone touching me or their brother. Also, the only legal way I am aware of for me to strap you down that tightly despite your protests. So sit down, shut your mouth, and get your paws out of the way. Management needs to adjust those straps. For safety.
- Driving advice: I know that transportation in general and, more specifically, cars that go very fast is one of your main interests. I know that you have likely spent more hours driving your matchbox cars around the house in the past week than I have spent driving anything in my entire life. I still don’t need you to tell me what to do. Please don’t yell “STOP!” at the top of your lungs when we have been sitting at a stoplight for two solid minutes already. It’s unnecessary and alarming. Please don’t tell me that I’m “driving WAY TOO FAST” when I’m stuck behind someone’s grandmother going 37 miles an hour on the interstate. And please, please, don’t tell me how good of a driver you are compared to me. I may have totaled two cars in my teens, but I witnessed no fewer than six fiery multi-car pileups due to your negligence and arrogance on the living room rug this morning alone. I’m pretty sure one of them involved the fatal combination of fuel tanker and school bus. Step off.
- Food in the car: You are not allowed to eat in the car. Ever. Because of PUKING. Twenty-five minutes down a perfectly straight road on a cool, breezy day induces a level of motion-sickness in you unheard of in even the most pathetic of NASA astronauts, a condition that is only exacerbated by the mere presence of food within a yard of your face. I’m proud of how quickly I can de-vomitize both child and carseat on the side of a road with three half-dry baby wipes and a grocery bag, but it’s not a skill I have any interest in continuing to hone.