So, I believe myself to be the traffic light whisperer.

I get a thrill when I approach the red light facing me and see the green light in the corner of my eye change to yellow. That was all me, baby. I made that light change! Yeah!

This awesome, amazing, astonishing, and astounding talent extends to left arrow lights, and we happen to have such a light in one of our last turns on the evening commute.

When I am the first car in the left turn lane, I know where the sweet spot is on the pavement. If you stop too early or too late, the lights will cycle through without ever giving you the arrow…EVER. Throughout most of the day, that's not a big deal because the intersection isn't that busy. But at rush hour, well, that's a different story. Left-turners are screwed if the front car doesn't know the sweet spot. Most of the time, I hate that first car.

Some of the time, that first car is my husband. For years, he denied my talent. He could not believe that a human could in any way tame such a wild thing. I think he is starting to believe…stopped first at the aforementioned left turn lane several weeks ago, he asked ME if he was going to get the arrow. (I patted his hand and told him that he overshot the spot…again.)

I started coming down with a head cold today. By the time I left work, I could no longer hear out of my left ear or breathe out of my nose. My head throbbed. I was in an understandably lousy mood as I slid behind the wheel. When I reached my left turn lane as the first car, I didn't immediately feel the power that was building beneath my hands. I didn't even register that I got the left turn arrow because I always get it: old hat.

But, as I made my turn, I looked at my rear view mirror. A parade of happy little cars and trucks turned behind me, all excited to have the fortune of the arrow to end their day. With my painful head congestion, I nodded at the mirror and mumbled, "You're welcob."