If You Do That Again I’m Taking Away Your Driver’s License

It's a drearsome day. The sky has promised to deposit rain upon the ground at some point, but it keeps holding back like a little child refusing to jump in the deep end. 

The road is long and black, and on either side lay fields of hills like the wrinkles in a gentle blanket, stitched with green. In these fields are cows, ripping up the grass with their teeth and sinking down into muddy patches.

Your eyes focus on the cows even though your hands rest on the wheel. The window rolls down, and you catch the attention of a blonde haired brown eyed beauty that happens to be an ungulate.

She raises her head, her big liquid eyes watching you swerve into a ditch.

If you do that again, I'm taking away your driver's  license.