I married a backseat driver.

We all can list certain characteristics that make it a wee bit harder to love certain people. And if you say that you can’t list any annoying characteristics and that you love everything about everyone, then you better get your rump out of here now because your pants are on fire. 

Three characteristics that sometimes get my goat can be organized as the ABCs of personality defects:

A – arrogance

B – backseat driving

C – complaining

Now I’m still gonna love you if you exhibit any  of the foregoing. And I know you’re going to say that traits we dislike most about others are usually traits we ourselves have.

I’ll wash your mouth out.

Well, fine. Most days, I drive myself bonkers. So there. 

Interestingly enough, my precious husband regularly breaches category B. Except he sits in the front passenger saddle, instead of the backseat, and uses hand signals and verbal cues to prompt me when I need to turn, change lanes, proceed through intersections, or otherwise increase caution.

Drew‘s even reached out and turned off my windshield wipers because the squeaking was driving him nutty. He better cherish his hand because next time he tries that………

Now, Drew would take a bullet for me, so nobody else dare gesture or give me a horn toot unless they want to hear Drew growl.  

But I also wouldn’t be surprised if I walk out to my vehicle tomorrow to find that Drew has installed a second steering wheel and brake pedal for the front passenger seat like those we see in driving school. 

Drew’s feelings about my driving are unwarranted. 

Praise Jesus, I’ve never knowingly caused an accident. And the only time I may have created contact between two vehicles was in high school when my front bumper could have kissed the rear bumper of another student’s car. 

But *if* that even happened, and I don’t think it did, it was a butterfly kiss and it was only because my ‘88 Honda Accord turned off when I stopped. So I kind of had to roll around town. 

I was so troubled by the potential butterfly kiss that I trailed the kid for blocks as he stared at me in his rear-view mirror. I think he was more uncomfortable with the fact that I was strategically following him into an intimate, private neighborhood. Curiously, he never stopped for me to investigate the facts. 

So yeah, I’m a great driver, and I think it’s warped that Drew has the audacity to critique my driving while continuing to demand that I taxi the family around. I can turn on a dime. I even do jazzy moves like pulling through adjacent parking spots, so I don’t have to reverse. I got tricks, people.

Then you can understand my confusion when Drew was recently driving us on a brief out-of-town adventure to meet family at a middle point between our states. It was just the two of us. 

It’s a destination we’ve traveled to maybe a hundred times. 

Then you can also understand my perplexed emotions when Drew unknowingly blew past the familiar exit, taking us 20+ highway minutes in the opposite direction.  

I could sketch a panorama from memory of the exit and surroundings. That’s how familiar this exit is to us.

But I’m not one to throw stones. 

I just thought it was interesting.

Given our history.

Interesting, that’s all. 

Drew may have also had the gall to shift some of the fault to my passenger seat. 

Which I also found quite interesting. 

At this point, I did throw stones and a few other items within reach. 

I’m pleased to report we’re still married.

I drove us home. 

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