She may have a point
So I was at my parents' house last week. They moved to a new town last fall--it's not the house I grew up in or anything--which means I'm not super familiar with the neighborhood. Which also, naturally, gives my mom extra license to participate in one of her very favorite activities ever, backseat driving, when I am there.
So I'm driving my mom and my brother to lunch. We're going down a big hill, and I hug one of the turns a little close. And when I say a little, I mean, like, BARELY.
"Swishy!" she gasps, throwing herself around like Raggedy Ann over there for effect. "Be careful!"
"SWISHY," she says, and let me tell you, there hasn't been this kind of drama in her tone since a certain aunt engaged in certain extracurricular activities right before my cousin's wedding, "Swishy, I'm not even kidding, someone DIES on this road almost EVERY DAY."
I nearly almost DO drive off the road this time, because oh, my goodness, if there was not a more melodramatic statement in all the world. I can't stop laughing.
"You are beyond ridiculous," I say.
"It's true," she insists. "Almost every day there's an ambulance going down the road."
I tell her if those kind of scare tactics didn't work when she told me my face would freeze that way and the gum would stick to the walls of my stomach forever, they were not about to start working now. And yet, there she goes again with the death talk on the way back after lunch.
"RIGHT," I say, waving my hands in the air. "It's a TOTAL DEATH TRAP of a street. People are just DYING left and right. I mean, really. REALLY."
My brother pipes up from the backseat: "Well, there IS a senior citizen home on the street."
I whip around. "WHAT? Is that true?"
My mom shrugs. "I just said a lot of people died on this road, I didn't say HOW."