This morning, we were heading to the YMCA for my Saturday morning torture session work out, and the following conversation ensued:
Me: There’s a cop up ahead, you ought to slow down.
Husband: OK.
Me: The guy in front of the person in front of you is turning left – you might want to change lanes. Or at least slow down.
(That slow down thing? It’s called a theme regarding our car-conversations.)
Husband: Yeah, I can see that. OK, thank you.
(A moment of silence while I watch with my eagle eye for the next bit of driving advice I can impart to his willing ears.)
Husband: I’m so grateful for your help. It’s a wonder I don’t drive straight into a brick wall when you’re not in the car with me.
Smart-ass.
OK, I have GOT to use that line. My husband is a champion passenger-seat driver. “Brakelights ahead.” “This guy’s turning.” “Why aren’t you downshifting?” Seriously, the fact that I can drive my children and myself safely without him to tell me what to do is nothing short of a miracle. I will make sure to tell him so on our next drive. I think it will go over really well!
My husband won’t even let me drive when he is in the car. I guess I’m grateful for that!
My husband and I are both equally guilty of this. BOTH of us. It doesn’t make for happy long-distance trips in the car!