That's what my wife calls me when I'm behind the wheel.
I believe in taking my time.
If I'm driving in the city or county, I'm usually below speed limit.
On Interstate 75, I'll try to keep up with the flow of traffic.
Works for me.
What happened late last Saturday morning was a good reminder.
Sherri and I were in her new SUV on our way to Brighton, the Seminole casino just this side of Okeechobee.
It's virtually a straight shot east on State Road 70, a leisurely drive through Old Florida and its expansive cattle ranches.
Anyway, as we drove through DeSoto County we noticed an increased presence we see infrequently when we make our periodic excursions to Brighton.
The Florida Highway Patrol.
Nearing Highlands County, we wondered --- are these guys out in force because its the last weekend before the July 4th holiday?
Well, here came another FHP cruiser headed west and I never gave it a second thought.
Until he pulled a U-turn.
"How fast were you going?" Sherri said.
I didn't know.
My wife's new ride has some giddyap and you don't realize you're going that fast.
Sure enough, the FHP cruiser gradually closed on me and then its overhead lights came on.
The state trooper was courteous, but got right to the point.
Did we know the speed limit?
It's 60, he said.
We thought it was 70 out there in the wide open spaces.
The trooper took my license and paperwork and returned to his cruiser.
My wife kidded we might as well turn around and go home because that ticket might cancel out our casino funds.
But we got a break.
The trooper gave me a warning, instead, and a reminder the speed limit was the same the rest of the way.
After thanking the man effusively, we continued on our way to Brighton.
At 60 mph.
Just my speed.