Last weekend, the fam and I were in the car on the way to a quick out-of-town day trip. My husband hates when I drive, even though the only “problem” with my driving is that I have a bit of a lead foot.
Maybe “a bit of” is a stretch, as illustrated by one of my older sister’s favorite stories about when we were growing up. She was driving my little sister, who’s 6 years younger than I am, somewhere, when a stoplight turned yellow while she was still several yards away. She slowed down, stopping as it turned red.
“You had a ton of time,” my 11-year-old little sister piped up from the back seat. “Shay totally would have made that. She goes so fast when the light turns yellow that if she’s turning, it feels like the car will tip over.”
Anyway, my husband, otherwise known as “Grandma” when he’s behind the wheel, prefers to drive when he’s with me, and that’s fine with me, because I love to read. We had just merged onto the highway last weekend when I settled back with a good book and my travel mug full of coffee.
I soon became aware of a sort of nagging sound coming from somewhere around me. I was able to ignore it for awhile, but after a few minutes, it just became too much and I tore myself away from my book to look over at my husband. I realized that he was the noise I’d been hearing. He’d been talking away the entire time, trying to get my attention.
“Oh!” he shouted gleefully. “Princess decided to get her nose out of her book and join the conversation!”
We all knew there was no conversation going on. The kids were in the back seat nodding off, and my husband doesn’t usually like to talk. To anyone. He was just annoyed because I was enjoying myself while he had to drive—even though he didn’t even want me to drive. He wanted me to be annoyed, too, because misery loves company.
But I wasn’t going to allow him to steal my sunshine.
“Suck my balls,” I said, turning back to my book.
From the corner of my eye, I saw my husband shoot me one of his exaggerated holier-than-thou looks before jerking his head in the kids’ direction. “Not in front of the children,” he admonished, referring to my dirty language.
“I didn’t ask you to do it in front of the children,” I replied without looking up from my book.
That’s when I heard his abrupt laugh, made louder by the fact that he tried so hard to choke it back.
I couldn’t help but smile, too.
Hubs: Zippity Doo Da