A princess should not be driving.

It took me three attempts to get my driver’s license. And I think on that third attempt the officer just gave me a sympathy pass because he felt sorry for the pathetic navigationally challenged twit sitting in the driver’s seat. Since I started driving at 16 I’ve had on average two wrecks per year, in which either the car was completely totaled or dented just enough to be tacky. I can get lost in a parking lot even with my trusty Garmin (although in my defense she is dyslexic). In my career of fender benders I’ve had one major dent caused by trying to squeeze my van between what appeared to be enough clearance at the time between a concrete embankment and a delivery truck, had a car rear ended by a tractor (yes, a small farm tractor which actually totaled my car), drove a delivery truck for a florist I worked for as a teen across a very rocky ledge getting the van stuck on a big heap of rocks in the middle with both the front and rear tires suspended in air. I gave myself a pat on the back when I realized it had been at least one entire year since I personally inflicted damage (a Bellsouth truck backed into me two weeks ago in a parking lot) onto any vehicle I own but I did this too soon, for this morning I backed my beloved Jeep into my van on the way out of my driveway. I scraped and dented the van but I broke the cover over my rear lights on the Jeep which really pissed me off. I like my mom mobile van okay but I save it mainly for driving on trips where we have a lot of stuff or anticipate acquiring a lot of stuff. I absolutely LOVE my Jeep. It didn’t actually damage the light just the plastic over it. Which now I have two options, either get it fixed or whip out the duct tape Redneck style and patch it. My immense lack of driving skills is making me even more convinced of my deep suspicions that I was never meant to drive, that I should have always been chauffeured around in a limo for the duration of my life since I am the long lost illegitimate daughter of Princess Diana and my mother was a disgruntled nurse in Great Britain at the time that kidnapped me to raise as her own and Princess Diana didn’t report it because I was illegitimate so that’s why no one knows. I pointed this out to my mother again this morning when I dropped off my kids and she told me she would try to track down the Queen for me if I wanted to make a formal case along with pointing out how anybody can miss their own van parked in their own driveway to which I responded “Don’t you think I feel bad enough? Just flick some salt in that wound mother, just flick away. It’s what you are good at it.” to which she responded that “at least one thing I ought to be good at now was patching up cars since I’ve had so much practice at it.” I should have married an auto body repairman or that guy on TV who sells the dent poppers.