A muse to the dude, “It’s the pedal on the right.”
We drove this afternoon to the sea. And arrived two hours later than if I was driving. But after 20-something years of wedded bliss I have finally learned to let it go……
My husband has a truck. He loves his truck. A truck that was stolen from him after 5 weeks of ownership.
But true love could not be daunted even by some low-rent thieves in Dekalb County. The truck and Johnny reunited a month or so later.
So today, he drove. And I tried not to come out with any negative vibe about his tortoise driving. For that could be hurtful to tortoises.
He programed in the address. The way I like to go is much quicker.
No. He liked the GPS way because “it tells me what to do. I think every day of my life, I don’t want to think when I drive.”
Ugh. But nary a word.
Great how the Instagram effortlessly photo-shops out all my eye-crinkles and deep parenthesis surrounding my mouth.
With his slowness. My hunger caught up with me and I ordered chicken and fries. A Kids Meal. That I ate all of.
So we are here. That’s all that matters.
And I didn’t complain. I don’t think passive-aggressive complaining counts.
When traveling…do you or does the dude drive?