Cars and golf carts kept swerving around each other as the place we were staying. This was the first year we went to Orlando during Spring Break and both my husband and myself were starting to regret the decision. We were staying in a condo/time share unit located less than five miles from the Magic Kingdom, and realtors were waving their magic wands as they enticed people into buying a time-share unit.
You could definitely tell who was an owner vs. the realtor's prey. Having established that I have road rage, I passed the driving over to my husband. The realtor on the golf cart, long lean and blonde, must have an incredible life insurance policy! She would continue non stop talking as her cart started going head to head with an SUV.
She would wave her arm with the heir of a beauty queen expecting that she had right of way. She must have felt invincible, because with one arm on the driver she would keep her spiel going(about the golf course, pools, weight room) as her possible tenets braced for the crash.
Since I wasn't the one driving, I thought I could ignore the battle going between real cars, and these white golf carts. Just look at a map of the complex, I told myself as I saw another golf car trying to get through, or maybe I should decide which park to visit. By the third day there I lost it and reached over and honked the horn. I held on to it as long as I could before my husband bumped my arm off the horn. Where I would have been just as happy to bump all these carts out of the complex.
By the fifth day of vacation my husband quit telling me to relax and starting to say things the children in the back shouldn't hear (not saying they haven't heard them before, or that they will be saved from obscenities in the future).
The day before we went home, the golf carts starting looking like golf balls to me--one hit-one in the hole -I win. Only 17 more carts to hit to win the game, because there are 18 holes in a round of putt-putt.
It was the last day before my husband succumbed to the power of my engine. The changing and swerving on invisible lanes had me yelling for more, while the kids were eerily quiet.
Their world was no longer the same, their Dad had turned to the dark side. He no longer cared if he scared the people on the cart, and he climbed up a berm in an effort to be free from this place. The funny thing was, about three cars followed in our wake.
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