I know when I hear Lieutenant Worf’s voice in my head bellowing “today is a good day to die” that I might be in trouble. Klingons like the challenge of a tough battle, and death is not a deterrent to jumping right in. They tend to be reckless. For me, though, the tiny Worf in my head is more of a warning device. “Today is a good day to die” is not a motto I live by.
My Caravan, a.k.a. the mom-mobile, is a little piece of home that I take with me, just like a turtle carrying its shell. It was 92 degrees F outside and my air conditioner works like a dream. It was comfortable, Brad Paisley was crooning to me, and I was in no hurry to get to the Publix. I took a winding little back road instead of joining the traffic on the highway. The speed limit was 35 mph; I was going 40. The road was curvy and it was fun to drive. I was enjoying myself until Worf gleefully shouted that “today is a good day to die!” Huh?
The black Hummer was less than 4 inches from my back bumper. Who does that? Instinctively, I increased my speed. I was going 45 and I knew there was a sharp curve up ahead. Behind me, the Hummer was still attached to my bumper. I gently put my foot on the brake. The Hummer started to pass me, right on the curve. If there was a car coming from the opposite direction, I really was going to die. I pulled off onto the grass, throwing gravel from all four tires as I skidded to a stop. The Hummer and the little Honda Civic just missed each other, and I sat there shaking in my tennis shoes.
“Today is NOT a good day to die,” I shouted. The little Worf in my head shrugged and went away. All I have to say is that Klingons should not be given licenses to drive Hummers.