Just Call Me THE DESIGNATED DRIVER

                My official title for the summer should be designated driver. I’m too young to drink legally, and I have no interest in drinking anyway, so that means I’m always sober. I often spend many Friday nights driving my drunken brothers or cousins around.

                One of my four brothers was recently in town for his ten-year class reunion. He doesn’t come to town very often because every time he does he gets ridiculously drunk and makes a fool of himself. He’s done it once again and probably won’t return until my cousin’s wedding in September. He’s what you would call a mean drunk.

                I was also the official DD on the fourth of July. As soon as the fireworks ended I hopped in my mom’s car (cause it has lots of seats) and weaved through traffic to pick up my brother (a different brother than the above mentioned), a few cousins, and their posy of friends. Never have so many people squished into my mom’s minivan. Although some of them are known to be very mean drunks, they were mellowed out by a day full of sun and friends. So the two hours spent stuck in traffic, picking people up, and dropping people off wasn’t too bad.

                Tonight I will once again heard people into my mom’s minivan and drive them home after a night spent drinking. This is my life, and it’s not too bad.

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