Driving my parental units

Nothing is worse for me than having to drive my parents anywhere.  It is a torture beyond compare.

It starts with my father commenting on every pothole, slight bump, and curve in the road.  He looks at me in a condemning fashion, and makes a comment that always makes my blood boil.  "Yvette, you are driving a little erratically."

The last time I drove him he flipped out because I was driving behind a lawn truck.  On a two lane road. "YVETTE YOU NEVER DRIVE BEHIND A LAWN TRUCK!!!! THINGS COULD FLY OFF THE BACK!!!!"  I imagined he thought a branch would fly out the back and impale me in the chest.

Instead, he continued..."THE LITTLE BRANCHES AND THINGS COULD CHIP THE PAINT ON THE CAR!!!!!"

Not that my mother is any better.  Any time a vehicle approaches within a mile of me, she gasps and grabs the dashboard, calling out, "YVETTE!!!! LOOK OUT!!!!!"

I actually drive like  normal person.
I do not perform extreme multitasking...

Nor do I drive with my feet.

In fact, my driving record is quite good.  Just ask Papi.  WAIT.  Lets not talk about driving Papi.  This is about my parents.

The last trip I went with them, I swore I would NEVER drive them again.  After making my life a living hell, they actually asked me if I would like to drive with them to Florida.

Wait.....

uhhhh, forget it...I think thats illegal anyway.