I’m happy to report a new personal best. Got to work this morning in 34 minutes, door to door, including a stop at Starbies—slashing 6 minutes off my previous best time! Of course, I left at 6:15, so I was pretty much the only person on the roads. (Actually, I never cease to be amazed at how many people are up and about at that hour.) I suppose there are some perks to only sleeping from midnight to 4 a.m. Goodbye, rush hour.

In all honesty (and modesty), I am the best driver I know … I have scary-good predictive lane-changing abilities, and I can text message, tune the radio and apply lip gloss (the kind with a wand, no less) at the same time without veering off course. Sure, I may have grown up in the Midwest (home of the I’ve-got-no-place-to-go- and-nothin-to-do-so-please-by-all-means-cut-in-front-of-me school of driving), but I learned to drive here in New England and have spent the last ten-plus years honing my skills in Boston (home of the Masshole school of driving).

Noooo, I don’t use my turn signals most of the time—only when my movements will impact other drivers, to be more specific. Anything more is just a plain waste of a free hand.

Is my driving record spotless? Hell no. That’s the price you pay for gettin’ where you’re going. Here are the germane facts:

• number of fatalities caused: 0
• number of bodily injuries caused to self or others: 0
• number of fatalities caused to furry little creatures: 2
• number of bodily injuries caused to furry little creatures: 1
• time since most recent furry little creature incident: 12 years

The lesson here? Cars aren’t reflections of our worth as human beings. Anyway, driving’s not meant to be self-esteem camp. Getting from A to B … that’s all we’re doin. My superior navigational skills don’t mean you’re less worthy of love or happiness. If life were a game of Driver, however, you’d want to be on my side. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.