Muses

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.

10 and two grip.

 

All these cars sped by us like we were a watermelon Jolly Rancher shard cemented between my teeth.

 

 

He's slow but he's smooth. Caught up on some reading.

 

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.

 

 

Good. But hadn't planned on eating all my fries. That's what the stress of a slow driver does to me.

The one vehicle we passed. Its regulator set on 52 mph.

So relaxing to have all this at my feet.

 

 

Rain isn't my favorite on the way to beach. But no safety concerns because Mr. 10 and two was at the wheel.

 

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?  

iPhone Photo Phun

           

           

Subscribe Blog Posts to Your Email.

Archives