Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Driving Miss Crazy

Really - my husband and I should just start taking separate cars wherever we go. We can't stand each other's driving decisions, and somehow I come out looking ridiculous whether I'm the driver or the passenger whenever he's in the car.

Name any destination, and we both have a better route to get there. My husband believes that the stoplight is a portal for satan, and I believe that being stuck in traffic on a stoplight-lacking road is about as intelligent as wearing shoes on the wrong feet. My husband is also under the impression that he can soften any command if he adds the word please. As in, "Don't take us down that bloody street. Please." Or, "If I were you, I'd get around this guy. Please." And, "Honey, you're killing me. Where are you going? Take a left, right now. Please."

I've explained to him that inserting 'please' does NOT make him sound less like a drill commander slash backseat driver at all, and especially not when it's separated by a period and uttered as he suddenly remembered someone telling him that if you don't say 'please', girls cry.

Last night, we were headed to Lowe's in Alexandria, and I made a right hand turn to take the route I'm most familiar with. He said, "I don't know why, but it completely irritates me every time you drive down this street. Puhleese."

Pushing him out of the car would have negatively impacted my plan to have him carry the heavy stuff once we arrived. I calmly explained that I really did not choose the street as a personal insult to him.

Another thing he does when I'm driving is exit the car before we're fully stopped. I have asked him if there are secret cookies given out to people who reach entrance doors before their wives. He insists there is not. I was trying hard not to take personally his rapid fumbling with the lock as soon as I pull into a space, since it seems to be genetic. When his parents came from a visit, my husband drove us to dinner, and as we crept into a parking space, my father in law leapt from the car like a gazelle. He was already giving his name to the maitre'd by the time we got to the door.

Leaving Lowe's we decided he would drive back. Then it was my turn to conduct. Solely because he likes to go fast and still maintains an interest in "G's" - despite being well beyond his thirteenth year of age, mind you - he decided to take a tight left turn at speed. I gripped the door handle as my ass lifted ever so slightly out of the seat.

"Was that really necessary?" I asked.

"Not really. Just fun."

"Do you think you might consider having fun at things which aren't likely to result in maiming my ass?"

"I could consider that. Nice ass, honey.... Please."

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

I have to side with your husband. Stoplights are for the birds. :p

Smee said...

police here somehow manage to hide behind every traffic light but never anywhere you need them....

also, his notion of fun, totally understandable, men just dont mature much past the 13th year