Driving, Hair, and Ice Cream Metaphors

Some people made fun of me for not driving today.
So I went driving with my mom.
I crashed and broke three of my ribs. Thanks guys.
Sorry, that was a bad joke.

I forgot the joys of being behind the wheel. I mean, I missed the convenience of having a car, but I didn't realize how much I like driving until I was doing it. It was like reconnecting with an old friend and realizing nothing has changed. The soothing clicking sound of the signal lights. The feel of the leather cover on the steering wheel. Easing the brakes into a smooth stop. Before I knew it, I was cruising with one hand on the wheel.
Granted, I still drove at the pace of an old lady and all the cars were cutting in front of me, but that will get better with time.

Today, I learned my hairstylist is psychic.
She was saying that, aside from that really annoying cowlick that forbids me from ever having straight-across the forehead bangs, the hair follicles on my scalp are arranged so that my hair is naturally neat and tidy. Every strand of hair is where it's suppose to be. No random tufts of hair growing in opposite directions, or creating swirl patterns, or doing whatever else hair does to make it unmanageable.
She said that this means I am a "good girl." I am level-headed. I know what I am doing.
I am stable. I will marry some stable guy and we will have a stable marriage. I will lead a stable life with no real regrets and I will die a stable death at the end of my stable years. I will be stably placed in the stable earth where I will rot stably in a stable casket.

Which is great, you know. Who doesn't want stability? Stability is good.
But the word "Goddammit..." slipped into my mind.
I am going to lead a vanilla life. Vanilla ice cream topped with vanilla syrup in a waffle cone laced with vanilla icing. I want some fucking rainbow sprinkles, damn it. Hell, I'll even take some almonds.
I guess I have to make the most of my cowlick. Perhaps I will occasionally write in a library book or something. Maybe I'll even go 5 miles above the speed limit.

I know I know. It's just a forecast by my hairstylist based on my hair. But that has been my life thus far. Stable. Smooth. Neat. And Very Vanilla.

It may be too much to ask for, but I want to taste Rocky Road. Just one ketchup cup sample of it.
(^Look look! Ice cream pun on life!)