Whenever my Dad drives my car he pauses in the driveway for a moment and revs the engine up really high. As a young driver, before I knew just what kind of licking an '85 Volkswagen could take, his little ritual would freak me out something fierce. Surely the transmission would break free and shoot through the passenger seat! Crushing my legs to a bloody pulp! How painful! How gruesome! How would I get a date to prom!
The first time my father put pedal to metal in my Cabriolet, I shrieked like a mother who’d caught someone pinching her baby just to make it cry.
“What are you doing?!” I wailed.
“Relax,” he said, “I’m cleaning the spark plugs.”
And you know what? Call me suggestible, but I could swear it ran a little smoother after that.
So this morning, in the calm that followed yesterday's office-wide storm (everyone was screaming and crying for various reasons, must be a full moon), I thought of those spark plugs and realized that sometimes we need to rev up and freak out for a moment. Just put your foot down and roar. A little nervous breakdown can really cleanse the system.