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Road Rage Within a Marriage
The hubs is on vacation. Which means he’s back at home. Which means my “honey-do list” might actually get some items crossed off and I might finally get a decent back massage. Wink, wink.
It’s not all roses and romance now that he’s back. Apparently, I hog the bed. He forgets to turn lights off. But really, after being apart so frequently and for so long, it’s a small miracle we remember what the other looks like, let alone why we like them.
Last night, we had our annual family photo; the one with all the nieces and nephews shoved in a room and some poor, underpaid photographer who wishes he was smarter and became an accountant instead, tries to take a decent pic of all the kiddies for their grandma.
In theory, it’s a nice idea. The reality is, there are now 12 kiddies under the age of 11 (including three toddlers) to try and have sit still, keep their hands to themselves, look at the camera and smile. Last time we had vomit, tears, laughter and an um, interesting end result.
We didn’t do the picture last year. I couldn’t wrap my head around a family photo of everyone’s children, when I was missing my son. Too many small, grubby faces to see and grieve that my son wasn’t among them.
But time marches on, children grow up and the photo needed to be taken. So we went. I had a flask of liquor in my pocket, Boo was naively optimistic this time the photo wouldn’t look like a bunch of escapees from the circus and my darling Fric and Frac were combed, clean and pretty in the back seat.
Off we went. Boo, being the big man he is, had to drive. My car. Which means a lot of gear grinding, bad shifts, the occasional stall and my favorite, the bunny hop. All while muttering under his breath about my piece of shit clutch and how I need a new car.
For the record, I don’t need a new car. But if my husband continues to drive abuse my car, I may need a new transmission and clutch.
(He is sooo going to kick my ass when he reads this. Snicker.)
After the second stall and numerous grinding shifts later, I was getting annoyed. My children’s necks were starting to hurt and I was justifiably worried about my car.
“Maybe I should drive.” Hint, hint.
“There is nothing wrong with my driving. It’s this fucking car. And the traffic. Why the hell is there so much traffic at six at night?” Boo is visibly annoyed now. The vein in his right temple is throbbing like a neon sign at a cheap motel.
“Um, it’s rush hour. That’s why.” Rolling my eyes, I turn around to make sure the kids are wearing their seat belts correctly. They looked small and scared back there, but polished like a pretty penny. “Speed up, Boo. The speed limit is 60, not 20. We’re late. You’re family is gonna have our hide.”
“You know, when you drive, I just sit back and let you drive. I don’t boss you around and tell you what speed to drive and what lane we need to be in.” Oh, the righteous indignation he was emanating.
“That’s because I drive the fucking speed limit and KNOW which lane to be in. You don’t NEED to tell me how to drive.”
Like, duh…
“Funny, how I have managed all these years to drive by myself and haven’t seemed to have a problem. Funnier yet, I always arrive where I’m going.”
Suddenly, Fric pipes up from the back seat, “Are you two fighting?”
Boo looks back and tells her, “No, honey, I’m just giving your mom a lesson in how to be a good wife. She seems to have forgotten it.”
Facker.
By now, we are extremely late, annoyed with one another and stuck behind the third accident we’ve encountered. Trapped in a small box with wheels while we’d like to throttle each other. Good times.
A strained silence takes over our car, as Boo swears under his breath and I check my watch for the umpteenth time.
An excited Frac pipes up, “Look Mom! Is this where we took Shalebug for a doctor’s appointment?”
“No, honey. That’s down a ways. This building is where your daddy went to school.”
“Where he learned to become an exceptionally talented, trained professional in a highly skilled labour-intensive environment, thereby providing your mother with oodles of cash to spend on tattoos, books and booze, so she can sit around on her duff all day, while I bust my ass,” Boo interjected.
An uncomfortable silence from Fric and Frac. They don’t want to step on any invisible land mine and pay the price.
Sensing this, I did what any good mother and wife would do.
I turned around and replied to my kids, “Yes, this is where daddy went to school. It’s a miracle place really. They can teach anyone to become a trained monkey.”
As my kids peels of laughter bounced off the roof of the car, I looked at Boo and blew him an air kiss.
“It’s good to be home, isn’t it honey,” I asked him, with a smile on my face.
Funny, he never answered back.
August 8th, 2007 at 10:14 am
I love it!
Travis always gets annoyed when I tell him how to drive (because let’s face it…women are the best drivers). He he.
Great comebacks!!!! Nice talking with you T…
Julie
August 8th, 2007 at 10:51 am
Oh Mike and I get in our BIGGEST fights when it comes to driving!
LMAO @ the bunny hop. I can totally picture all your heads uncontrollably bobbing back and forth as Boo tried to shove it in gear! OMG! LOL!
August 8th, 2007 at 10:55 am
oh babe. i have a lot to say about this but i’ll restrain myself. if anyone in your neck of the woods needs a reminder of how spectacular you are, have them give me a call.
August 8th, 2007 at 10:57 am
The car causes many a fight for us too. I let hubby drive because I don’t want to listen to him bitch about my lack of driving skills .
Ouch “trained monkey”…better be careful T then all your oodles of cash might be yanked out from under you
August 8th, 2007 at 11:06 am
Don’t worry…I only used the phrase “trained monkey” because that is what he constantly refers to himself and his crew when he is speaking about his work.
I would never disrespect him without him doing it first.
Snicker.
This momma knows where her massages and money comes from.
And trust me, I made up for it later on that night. Wink, wink.
August 8th, 2007 at 11:27 am
I love you, RM! That sounds like many of the car fights we have…. Although I don’t think I would have been quite as nice in my response to the “sitting on your duff all day” comment.
August 8th, 2007 at 11:30 am
You’re a BAD BAD wife. I love it. You should give lessons. I’d pay oodles o’cash. Keep up the good work. You blog is like therapy for me. I soo need more laughs in my life right now. Thank You!
August 8th, 2007 at 11:54 am
ugh, a hurtling sardine can. I hate family drives.
you managed to make it funny tho.
August 8th, 2007 at 1:04 pm
God, do I miss having five on the floor.
Love the comeback. You seem to be quite full of them…you should write a comeback book.
August 8th, 2007 at 1:42 pm
This sounds like our banter in the car. Except it would be my husband (wrongly) telling me all about my poor driving.
Sigh.
August 8th, 2007 at 1:47 pm
Usually when my husband starts in with all his “helpful” hints about my driving, I take my hands off the steering wheel and ask him if he feels lucky, today. I always drive my car. He would hurt my baby. No one knows how to handle my big, burly Suburban like me. And no one ever will.
August 8th, 2007 at 2:02 pm
LMAO! T, you crack me right up.
August 8th, 2007 at 2:08 pm
Ah, this is just exactly what I do - comment from the passenger seat (like you, I only do this because he is a less observant driver than I am. Not, of course, because I am bossy and interfering). Except we have had so many fights that now I sit silently suffering unless there is something potentially life-threatening (like when there was a car driving the wrong way towards us and he seemed completely unaware and I yelled out a warning and we just missed getting mashed)
What a great post….gave me a big grin to start my day!
August 8th, 2007 at 2:10 pm
The very thought of a family picture sends chills up my spine. We did it once. When I was maybe 14 and the results were horrendous. Like, blackmail photo for life, horrendous. Not a single one of us can take a decent photo on our own… so who ever had the brilliant idea to get us all in a group to get our picture taken must have been feeling particularly spiteful. Now I need to go lie down… the thought of that photo is too much to bear…
August 8th, 2007 at 2:31 pm
Awesome story! My husband is the same way- Insists on driving and says it’s because I’m such a bad driver, which is TOTALLY untrue. He’s the one who totalled our last car and just got a speeding ticket! Gah! Men!
August 8th, 2007 at 3:09 pm
You aren’t taking him up on a NEW CAR??? How about one of those cute little mini coopers. The are great MILFmobiles, if you ask me. They save on gas right? All the more reason….hehe.
August 8th, 2007 at 4:02 pm
Duff? Duff? There is no duff-sitting…we blog and read while sprinting around.
Ok, maybe not. Glad to hear we aren’t the only ones that go through an awkward day after flying solo for so long.
August 8th, 2007 at 4:11 pm
See? This is exactly why we *never* talk in the car.
Loved the peek inside your mobile pressure cooker.
August 8th, 2007 at 5:06 pm
Yeow. I don’t dare repeat the fights hubby and I have in the car on my blog, for fear of giving them more “legs” than they deserve. I don’t know if you’re very brave, or very reckless. Or both.
August 8th, 2007 at 6:25 pm
K drives along and says things like “WHERE AM I GOING? WHAT AM I DOING?”
[she bites her tongue…]
August 9th, 2007 at 5:15 am
Glad to know we aren’t the only couple who are hurdling down the road in a tin can with throbbing arteries and bulging eyeballs. Road Rage can be aimed at the occupants in your own car. And why do the kids always have to snicker to help things along?
August 9th, 2007 at 5:47 am
Holy freakin hysterical! I WISH I could have that argument with mine, he doesn’t even have a license! Never has… But we always get in arguments when we are in the car for more then 2 hours.
And I love the stick shift and was cracking up picturing him grinding and the bunny hop!
August 9th, 2007 at 6:14 am
I love a woman who knows how to handle a stick.
August 9th, 2007 at 7:07 am
Why does this sound so familiar? Oh yeah…because my husband makes ridiculous comments like yours did. Hmmmph.
Freakin’ men, I tell you.
August 9th, 2007 at 7:35 am
Love the comebacks!!
August 9th, 2007 at 9:27 am
Mrs. Joe learned to drive a standard before I did.
Careful, even trained monkeys tend to throw thier shit at people.
August 9th, 2007 at 9:39 am
You have been tagged for a MeMe!!!! http://meangirlsneednotapply.blogspot.com/2007/08/tales-of-weird-and-unknown.html
August 9th, 2007 at 10:09 am
I never have these conversations with Mrs unfighter… I do all of the driving… and the cooking.
I win!
August 9th, 2007 at 10:13 am
I used to have a poster pic, you know, one of those cheesy framed things you get at novelty stores that was a photo of a monkey, wearing a shirt and tie, with glasses propped on his head, with a pencil protector in his shirt pocket (This was bought in 1970, when slide rules were still in use) holding a pencil in one hand, a slide rule in the other with a puzzled look peering at a piece of paper, this photo had the caption “Well Trained Engineer”
That was me, yep, a well trained petroleum engineer LOL.
remember, I saw this on a T-shirt
“Silence is golden..
Duct tape is silver”
August 9th, 2007 at 1:22 pm
WOW! Did the kids get out of the car and tell everyone that you guys were fighting? That’s what my step son does…damn kids.
Hubby wonders why I drive when we go on a “trip”..it’s cause I don’t have the energy to fight..NOR do I have the stomach for the ..hit the gas..let up on the gas..hit the gas..let up on the gas..lound grrrrooooaaannnn
August 9th, 2007 at 5:38 pm
GOD. I have plotted my husband’s demise one many a tension-ridden car ride.
Can totally hear your voice in this whole scenario, btw. Love that.
August 9th, 2007 at 5:58 pm
Boy, funny how you seem to have been in the car with my husband and I every time we go somewhere…
August 12th, 2007 at 4:37 am
So. Very. Funny.
Lucky, lucky Travis
August 14th, 2007 at 1:18 pm
That was a perfect story, really! This is my first time reading your blog (here via BlogHerAds in my sidebar), but I can already tell that we have a thing or two in common