“Mama, are you going fast?” Lydia asked me from the backseat this morning.
“Yes, I can go pretty fast on this road.” The speed limit is 50 miles an hour.
“Oh. Don’t go fast, Mama. I don’t want the policeman to get you.”
The thoughts are crunchier here.
“Mama, are you going fast?” Lydia asked me from the backseat this morning.
“Yes, I can go pretty fast on this road.” The speed limit is 50 miles an hour.
“Oh. Don’t go fast, Mama. I don’t want the policeman to get you.”