All's well that ends . . .(S.T.F. series)

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      Now you'd think that after failing a driving test three times, I would be deleriously happy now just to clutch my hard won, shiny new Driver's license in my hands. I must admit to a season of thoughtless bragging. So, what happened next?  It rained for three out of the next four weekends. The windshield wipers didn't have a fighting chance.
     At my next appointment with my neurologist, I discovered my aching knees and swollen legs and numb prickly feet had a name.  Neuropathy. And that calm educated assessment had an ominous price tag.  Driving privileges shall again be assessed.  The State shall be notified. It looked like a command performance.  Turned out it was.
     When I contacted my kids that indeed my privileges behind the wheel were again in jeopardy , they gallantly restrained themselves.  And I tried to keep the "Why me" attitude from souring what little positive outlook I had left. Oh sure, I griped and despised any failulre of my well-worn body to keep up with the rest of me, but it is what it is.  So I still had my license but it didn't hold any magic for me, anymore.
     Just as well, for the little pocket in my wallet where I had proudly slipped my driver's  license had sunk to its lowest depths; it had glued itself shut. And I must be the good sport and admit-
      "You just can't fight City Hall."  For honestly, by the time I stash my awkward walker in the trunk, throw my purse on the back seat, fold up my slicker and find the car keys, I tend to leave my pocketbook in the middle of the driveway.  Besides, Im all tuckered out. The responsibility!
     Then it is that I'd like nothing better than to see a chauffeur driven car appear with a hand-lettered M I G G Y sign on the front. 
     All is well however regardless of how it ends.