But none of that is terribly funny.
And lets be honest, you don't come here for me to turn your brain into mush with my sappy, romantic folderol. You come here so that I can explain to you how The Hubs is preparing the men in white coats to come and take me away, haha.
(If you don't know, you can ask my mom what that means. She used to sing it to me.)
So, without further ado, the continuation of our story:
The fight between men and women about driving has been going on since Henry and Clara Ford hopped into the first Model T. Added to that natural gender-enmity is the fact that he is from New Jersey, and I am from Kentucky. He learned how to drive on the Garden State Parkway and the New Jersey Turnpike: The scariest place I had to drive was Nicholasville Road around Christmas time.
My Kentucky readers will understand just how terrifying that can be.
In the year and a half since our wedding, I have probably done approximately 1% of our family driving. My husband openly admits that he does not "passenge" well. And by "not passenging well," I mean he is fundamentally incapable of
In the interest of full disclosure, I should point out that
This can be best illustrated by an event that occured just after the recent events described in my blogpost In Sickness and In Health: The Hubs was on multiple drugs, including oral steroids that made him VERY grumpy.
|Actual Photograph of The Hubs on steroids|
I hate driving in the rain.
And as I may have mentioned a time or five hundred on this blog, I have a tiny little problem with anxiety - anxiety which kicked into high-gear after the hospital visit. So I was already on edge, and the last thing I needed was spousal-kibitzing while I was driving.
It started as we pulled out of our subdivision.
"Don't you think that was a little fast?"
Five seconds later:
"The speed limit is 40."
"I know, I'm driving 39 at the moment."
"I just wanted to remind you."
Five seconds later:
"That light turned red."
"Yes, after we were already through the intersection."
"Just be careful."
This continued on more or less in the same vein until we got to our destination:
"You're going to miss the turn, turn there!!!"
"I can't even get over yet!"
"Just get in the turn lane!"
*complies, and turns in the next driveway*
"You weren't supposed to turn into the gas station! The next one!"
"You told me to turn!"
"Well, I thought you would KNOW I didn't mean the gas station."
At this point, I pulled over, looked at him, and said, "I love you, and I don't want to kick you out of the car, but I am going to have a real panic attack if you don't stop. And since you can't drive, the only person who can return our car to the house is me. I know its the drugs, but you are making me crazy. So if you don't stop, in about five seconds, I am going to call B. to come get you, and I am going to drive myself home. Alone."
This was met with a spiteful (but silent) glower - A glower which continued until the stop light right before we got home.
"Don't you think you should slow down?"