Whitley and I go to one of the local farmer’s markets several times a week. When we’re in the farmer’s market, I usually ride in my wheelchair—not because I can’t walk, but because it puts me at eye level with all the fruits and vegetables.
We own a practical hybrid car right now, but we used to own a zippy sports car. So, can you guess which style of driving Whitley favors when he’s pushing my wheelchair? Yep, he pushes the wheelchair like he’s driving a sports car, careening through crowds, almost bumping into people, clattering over rough terrain at breakneck speed.
I end up looking not only for onions and peaches, but also for pedestrians, because sometimes he clips them or runs into them. Today he almost ran into a man from behind. If that had happened, the guy’s knees would have buckled and he would have ended up in my lap. But would that have been good or bad? I’m not sure, actually.
I sometimes think I ought to equip my wheelchair with a loud horn. I wouldn’t honk just as occasionally necessary. At the speeds we go, it’s always necessary!
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