S.P. Driving School


Despite all the headaches associated with having a car as my stuffie friends kindly reminded me, I still decided to go ahead with learning how to drive on my new, red BeeMV convertible that I recently won on the Price is Right.  So my mom signed me up for driving lessons at S.P. Driving School.

Here I am in the parking lot waiting for my first lesson.  I wonder what S.P. stands for.  It must be “speed” and “performance” or something like that.  I can’t wait to go VROOM VROOM VROOM in this car.

I waited 15 minutes.  Hmm… where is my driving instructor?

Another 15 minutes went by.  I decided to take a nap.

Sometime later, I was woken up by a familiar voice.

“Heeeeellooooooooo Aaaaaaajdiiiiin.”

“Ooogie?  What are you doing here?’ I asked.

“I’m youuuuuuur driiiiiiviiiing iiiiiinstruuuuuctooooor,” he said.  “Weeeeelcoooooomeee tooo S.P. Driiiiiiviiiiing Schoooool.”

He flipped over the sign.  It read:


He made his way towards the passenger side.

Then he got in the vehicle.

“Reeeemeeeembeeer tooo aaaalwwwwaaayssss buuuckleeee uuuup.”



“Noooow tuuuuurn ooooon the igniiiiiiitiiiiion.  Aaaaand goooo slooooooow.”

I pressed down gently on the gas pedal.

“Tooooooo faaaaaaast,” Oooogie said.  “Youuuu’reeeee gooooooiiing tooooooo faaaast.  Sloooooow doooooown.”

“But I’m only going 10 miles per hour,” I insisted.

“Fiiiiive.  Fiiiiiive miiiiilees peeeeeer hooooour,” said Ooogie.

So I pressed beary lightly on the gas pedal, and at 5 mph, we crawled out of the parking lot.

I guess I’ll see you later.  I’m not sure when we’ll be back.


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