Who’s Driving?

Today is on the edge of ruin. All week i have looked forward to a Friday with The Mister. The plan is to spend all afternoon in Macon. Shopping, dinner and just me and him. I am dangerously close to dumping him out at 162 Clubhouse Rd.

Among Misters many virtues, you will not find patience, nor will you find “laid back and relaxed while driving”.This escalates a hundred fold if, God forbid, he is a passenger. Multiply this by 20 if perchance his ADD wife is the driver.

Stop right here and say a prayer for our marriage. Its hanging in the balance
after I drove him less than 20 miles. I ask you, if you are aware that you have control issues why do you ask your wife to drive?

Folks, don’t let his gentle exterior fool you. Underneath his cool is a raging anger that finds its focus in the “complete idiots” on the road.

So when we are in the car, and on the rare occasion that I drive it goes something like this:

Me- … And so I told her , blah, blah blah..what do you think?

W- get over on that lane, and slow it down it’s 65 through here.

Me- wait, I know what I’m doing, don’t bossy. Ok where do you want to eat lunch?

W- huh? Get around this idiot.

I glance over to see his hand on the dash, his mouth is drawn in a sharp line and his eyes are darting.

As I pull into traffic, he bangs his knuckle on the window which is supposed to mean that I have not turned the way he wanted and I need to make a 3 point turn into oncoming traffic to correct this error.

Now is when I start to get irritated. The next words out of his mouth are, “good
grief Steph” and I feel my eyes sting. He can make me cry over driving directions, and that makes me
even madder.

All the while he has ignored my story and continued to frantically scan traffic while simultaneously bark orders to
me. As we pull into the parking lot, he of course tells exactly which space to pull in complete with hand gestures.

That’s it. As he goes inside, I move over to the passengers side. I refuse to let this madman ruin our day together. He has my sweet husband held hostage and I want him back.

He returns to the car and sees I have changed places. “What? You don’t want to drive?” he asks innocently.
You have got to be freaking kidding me!

I decide in that microsecond to salvage our day. “Honey, you are such a better driver than me, I just feel safer when you are behind the wheel.” I tell him with a smile.

Truth be told, I do feel safer. The Mister is a good driver, and as he takes the wheel, I wonder how I manage to make
it across town and into a parking lot without his direction everyday. But those are thoughts for another day. Today I sit back and relax, glad that the madman has returned my sweet man to me. I’m ready to let him navigate the streets of Macon.

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