Several weeks ago, while driving to pick the girl I nanny for up from school, I was stopped at a red light. I hummed to the radio, eyeing the clock. I have a fear of being late to pick her up, and of her having a panic attack of sorts when she's the last child at school, so I generally arrive 7 minutes early to get her. This may all stem from the fact that when I was in first grade, my parents forgot to come get me at school one day because they were painting our living room. Granted, the school was only two blocks away and I could have walked home, but instead I stood in the basketball court in front of the school sobbing my little pigtailed head off.
When the light turned green, I was ready to get going down the street to make the next light. But the car in front of me just sat there.
So I honked.
And then I laughed, shaking my head. In my six years of driving in Michigan, I never once honked at another car, and yet after six months in Chicago, the city has somehow gotten into my blood; the bustle and the go-go-go is now pumping through my veins.
And you know what? I like that.