DRINK. DRIVE. GO TO JAIL.

Dearest Friends,

Fortunately for all concerned, John was a waaaay better driving instructor than my dad or high school coach had been.  He never screamed, or cried, or yanked my pony tail when he wanted me to stop.  In fact, he even took the time to tell me a little bit about how the gear mechanism worked, which made it easier to remember when and why I needed to clutch and shift.

After only three practice sessions with him, I wrote "Hey, I think I'm finally getting the hang of this!" And though, after the fourth one, I wrote "ugh, today's lesson didn't go so hot,"  John decided to turn me loose nonetheless.

A few days later, I made a run to the grocery store.  Afterwards, driving along a nice straight stretch of road, I realized I was really thirsty.  Gawd, how I missed being able to drive through McDonalds or Sonic for a big cup of soda with lots of crushed ice!  Instead I had to settle for reaching into the grocery sack next to me, pulling out a warm can of Pepsi (no Coke products allowed in Bahrain) and holding the steering wheel steady in the crooks of my elbows while popping it open.  It wasn't until I saw the roundabout directly ahead, that I realized I had a serious problem.  I needed to shift gears, and a quick scan told me this new car had no cup holders.  So what was a girl to do?  I quickly tossed the open drink over my shoulder, and prayed that I could get the mess cleaned up before my hubby saw it!

Later I fessed up, and dear John searched the souk until he found one of those plastic cup holders that you could hook into the window slot.  Not long after that, my friend BD and I were out running some erands together, when a Bahraini gentleman in an expensive car decided to exit a roundabout from the inside lane, forcing us off the road and up onto a curb.  Seeing what had happened, he pulled over too.  We climbed out of the car, seriously shaken, but not injured.

About that time, a cop came over.  He walked slowly around the vehicle, inspecting it for damage, then spoke to me in Arabic.  I assumed he was asking us if we were OK, so I smiled and told him we were fine. Both men inspected the car again, peering in through the windows.  The wreck-causer became very animated, pointing to something and waving his arms around.  The cop turned to me, asking more questions.  "No, really.  We're fine!  Don't worry about it."  That's when BD grabbed my arm, saying "Uh, Becky.  I don't think they are the least bit concerned about our welfare.  I'm pretty sure that bozo just pointed to your soda can, then told the cop you are drunk and it was all your fault!"  Thank heavens her Arabic was way better than mine.  She finally convinced the cop that I was not drunk, sticking the can right up under his nose, and he eventually let us go.  I was furious about how rude he was to us, while treating the culprit with such deference and letting him off without so much as a reprimand, but BD stuffed me back into the car, saying "Just be thankful that they aren't hauling us off to a jail somewhere, never to be heard from again!"  I swore off "drinkin' and drivin'" until we were safely back in the states.