My mom is the absolute worst backseat driver. She doesn’t just comment on my driving—she critiques every single move I make, like she’s some kind of expert, which is hilarious considering she’s had more accidents than me and my dad combined.
One time, she even got us stopped by traffic police because she insisted I take the wrong lane, convinced it was the right one. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.
And living in Zambia, where the roads are already a nightmare, you need to focus. But how can I do that when she’s yapping nonstop? I swear, sometimes I fantasize about driving off the road just to shut her up.
I never volunteer to drive her. I have my own car, but whenever she’s feeling sick or lazy, she ropes me into her errands, ruining my plans so I can chauffeur her to places I don’t even want to go.
Every single time, it’s a headache. I’m this close to telling her to drive herself if she thinks she’s so much better at it.