I would like to state for the record that:
1. I warned my husband about me before the second date. It may have even been before the first one. I said something like "I am a moody, demanding, grouchy pain in the ass. I may look like fun and games, but this shit is about to get real, so don't say I didn't warn you." And then I passed gas in front of him on the third date, because I wanted him to know that I was serious.
2. With a lot of hard work, communication, wine and laughter, we are doing the best that we have in our marriage since our first six months. Hallelujah!
That being said, my husband is a great man. He is kind. He is mellow. He can be a pushover, but he can also stand his ground like no one's business. He is hilarious. This is why we work. He and I are either exactly the same with our ideals and characteristics or we are polar opposites.
Yet, one of the things that we do not agree on is his driving.
I think he sucks, he thinks that driving like a 98 year old man with no reflexes and dementia is safe.
No problem, you say! You just drive Johi.
I say, "Bitch, shut your whore mouth (Thanks to Aunt Becky at Mommy Wants Vodka for that phrase). Naturally, I like to be chauffeured everywhere. So me driving all the time is not solving Jack Shit. Besides I'm busy controlling the temperature and the radio, and watching for those pesky turns and stop signs."
So instead I attempt to "help" Brock by pointing out his driving faux pas. It is baffling to me that the Butthole has yet to thank me for all my hard work and thoughtful guidance. Talk about being ungrateful. Sheesh!
Just to ram my point home, let me give you some examples:
For instance, I do not believe that driving under the speed limit on the road, yet hammering the gas pedal upon entering the roundabout is safe. Nor do I believe in stopping in the middle of the intersection once you have already committed to going through the intersection. I also firmly support turn signals. I also believe in driving 75 mph on the interstate (or 82, if I am being totally honest), not 62 mph. I also believe that, even though the road is gravel, hence bears no painted lines, one is still supposed to drive on the appropriate side (that would be the right side here in America), yet my wonderful husband seems to have some magnetic pull to the left. Maybe he is British? Maybe he is a rule breaker? Or maybe he is just trying to infuriate me. (<----- ding ding ding- winner!)
The other element that I would like to bring up is that we generally take my vehicle, the one that I have had since before I met my husband, when all of us are together. Mainly because he is a giant slob in his vehicle, it always smells super bad and his truck rides like a meat wagon.
So we were heading down the canyon yesterday and I look over and he is revving the RPM's in my truck (it is a stick shift) at over 3,000 and his foot is depressing the gas pedal. I'm all "Dude. Shift." and he is all "I'm coasting. Shut up." and I'm all "But you aren't coasting, you are stepping on the gas pedal. Just shift." and then he lectured me about his foot position on the gas pedal and I ignored him and looked out at a field of cattle and said to Thing 1 "Can you count the cows, buddy?" and Brock guessed "35!" and I gave him a sidelong glance and said loudly "47!" and Thing 1 said "What cows?"
Then we drove for another 30 seconds and I was all "I totally want to go back and count the cows and see who won." and Brock said "I was thinking the exact same thing." But instead we kept driving and we both felt better because in each of our minds we were right. And the sun shone down upon my filthy dirty truck as Brock "coasted" down the mountain in third gear with his foot stomped on the gas pedal and together we made fun of people kayaking in the Big Thompson River when it was 35 degrees outside. What kind of idiot does that?