“In certain trying circumstances, urgent circumstances, desperate circumstances, profanity furnishes a relief denied even to prayer.”   Mark Twain

Son is driving. I am riding shotgun. “Wait for those cars to go by before turn—“ Son abruptly turns left into oncoming traffic.

I tromp on the floor— Where’s the accelerator?!— Ohmygod! I will Son to go faster!Gofaster!Gofaster! Instead, I can’t believe it— he hesitates.

The oncoming car isn’t slowing down.