Why You Shouldn't Butter a Bagel While Driving

So in between getting my cervix biopsied (yum) and taking a business trip to the hot, steamy, armpit-esque Florida (sorry Floridians, but your state is not hair-friendly with its consistent 99.9% humidity), I haven't been able to update in a while. Sorry about that. I thought I'd mark my return to trolling the bowels of the internet with an anecdote about my childhood. Shall we?

Every summer since I can remember, my mom and I drove up to Quebec, Canada to visit my aunt and uncle (the ones who own the ostrich farm). It takes about nine hours to get there, but with my mom speeding like a maniac and getting at least one ticket each way, it took about seven or eight hours. On one particular trip, when I was about six years old, my mom decided to pack a dozen bagels and a big tub of butter so that we wouldn't have to stop for food and could get to our destination faster (What kind of behavior is that?). Since she was trying to save money on gas, my mom refused to use the AC for as long as she could stand it. Instead, we drove with the windows wide open on the highway so that we didn't melt like the Wicked Witch of the West. Unfortunately, that didn't stop the giant tub of butter from melting.

About halfway through our trip, I decided I was starving. My mom, not wanting to pull the car over and therefore "lose time," decided she would butter my bagel (this is not a sexual euphemism) while she drove. She reached into the back to grab the melted tub of butter, which was nestled in a pile of my bedding (we had to bring extra pillows and blankets to my aunt's house). After procuring the tub and stabilizing it on her lap, she reached back again to grab a bagel and a butter knife. Then, without taking her hands off of the wheel and instead, taking her eyes off of the road, my mother proceeded to butter a bagel for me while cruising up the highway.

As you can imagine, within about five seconds, we were skidding off the road at 70+ miles per hour and doing a life-threatening donut on the shoulder of the highway. The centripetal force of the car spinning in tight circles caused the entire contents of the butter tub to be dumped on my face. By the time the car finally stopped spinning, I was hysterically crying, drenched in liquid butter, and resembled a baby lobster at the mercy of Paula Deen.

Some people stopped to help us out, but overall, everything went better than expected. The car had a dent in the door from the sign post we had swerved into, but was otherwise in perfect, working condition. I wouldn't let my mom clean me up with my pillowcases because I didn't want to get them dirty, to which she responded, "Taylor Paige, you are covered. In. Liquid. Butter." The evidence she presented was irrefutable and I let her clean me off with my bedding while weeping full-force.

On the way back home from Canada, we picked up more bagels and butter for the way home. This time, the AC was on full blast and when I whined for a bagel, my mom pulled over to butter it.