A car swerved into my lane, missing me narrowly.

I laid on my horn, which always brings the boys to high alert in the backseat.  (Not that I pound on my horn as a matter of routine.)

“Mommy!  What happened?  What’s going on?”

“That guy wasn’t watching, and he came into our lane and got a little too close.”

“He probably drank too much Fanta.”

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