I apologize for my recent absence. I’ve had a very bad migraine for about a week.
It’s not the most fun I’ve had this year, but this is where I am. One of these days, maybe I’ll write about the migraines… but then again, maybe I won’t.
Now, on to something not headache-related!
Every so often, a memory jumps into my brain and makes me laugh. It’s statistically likely that whatever the memory is, it’s either funny or naughty… or both.
I have no idea what causes these memories to surface.
“Statistically speaking” is scientist talk. It’s the whiny, annoying little sister of all the maths.
And for the record…, I’m not an annoying little sister. I am a breath of fresh air and a ray of sunshine.
I don’t know anyone who actually likes statistics… except for my college stats professor. She was a brilliant woman who LOVED stats. I enjoyed her class, but did not share her joy.
Here’s a little backstory before I get to the memory.
When Mae got her driver’s permit, I was the lucky parent who got to teach her to drive.
(No, Mae, that is not sarcasm.)
We live in a coastal community, so there are a lot of long, sparsely traveled roads not far from us. We would take advantage of those quiet roads to practice driving.
We preferred to practice at night, mostly because we could leave Nick at home with JP.
Nick—who, of course, sat in the backseat—liked to yell, “We’re all going to die!”
So driving with him wasn’t exactly the most productive learning environment.
After dinner one spring evening, we were in the car on the deserted beach roads. Mae was pretending to know what she was doing, and I was pretending I wasn’t tempted to grab the door handle in terror.
I’m kidding. Mae was a few weeks away from her driver’s test and was doing a great job.
In the past few months, we had conquered a stop sign perched on a hill that felt far too steep for its own good. And the confusing definition of “yield.”
In case you’re wondering, a yield sign does not mean: get your white knuckles ready, hit the gas, and go like there’s no one else on the road—even if the road is not quite rural, but also not exactly a regular highway… if that makes any sense.
Visit New England. It probably won’t be any clearer.
We had overcome those obstacles and more. We just needed a few more practice sessions to help Mae feel comfortable.
So there we were, driving along calmly toward the beach, grapevines on either side of the road. The sun had started to set, the radio was on, and the windows were open. A light breeze smelled like saltwater—the good ocean smell, not the one that smells like farts.
Sounds perfect, right?
And it was…until a deer decided to jump out from the grapevines and run in front of the car. Not a few feet in front—right in front.
When I say that deer was way too close to the front of our car… I mean she was so close her little white fluffy tail was dusting our hood.
I’m not joking.
Dusting. Our. Hood.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so close to a deer’s… um… tail.
(Tail is not my usual word choice for this story.)
So Mae is trying to maneuver around the deer, but when she goes left, the deer goes left, and when the car goes right—guess what?
Yep. The deer goes left.
Yeah, I’m kidding. Of course, the deer went right.
After what feels like an hour of us kind of, sort of—but not really—screaming, and Mae exhibiting some impressive Mario Andretti-level maneuvering, the deer jumps back into the grapevines and goes back to living her best life.
Mae pulls the car over, and we just sit there—white-faced, a bit shaky, and shocked that we didn’t have a freshly mounted doe on our hood.
People often say that a deer is a sign from a deceased loved one, or a loved one visiting from beyond the grave.
And if it was, all I ask is…don’t ever visit again.
Once was truly enough.
If you’ve ever taught a kid to drive—or just survived a near miss—this one’s for you. ⭐ Share the chaos with someone who’ll understand!
For more real-life stories, questionable scientific theories, and moments that probably shouldn’t be funny (but are), subscribe and join me!
Brain Fog & Brilliance 
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