The Driving Fight

The mister and I have this spat every time I drive. I'm not kidding; the one mile drive to the grocery store is long enough for us to have this fight. The 19 hours home from Moab? We had this fight about 19 times.

Me: driving.

Him: [nitpicky comment about something small and completely legal I did while driving, like easing off the gas for a second, accelerating, then braking when I come to a red light a minute later]

Me: [either shoots him a dirty look or responds to comment with a reason for said driving maneuver, like “I noticed I was speeding” or “there was a massive pothole” or “I was thinking about David Boreanaz and just wasn’t paying attention”]

Him: [nitpicky comment, nag nag, nitpicky comment]

Me: If you don’t like how I drive, you drive. Otherwise, sit there and shut up.

Now, at this point, he should just shut up or offer to drive, right? No, what he does is launch an attack on my driving skills, which, let’s face it, are not great, but they're not that bad. I use my blinkers, I turn into the appropriate and legally correct lanes, I don’t unnecessarily run yellow lights, I don’t ride in the left lane going ten under the speed limit, I don’t drive in the right lane going ten over the speed limit, I don’t tailgate (often) and I try not to ride in blind spots. He, on the other hand, ignores niceties like blinkers, thinks nothing of whizzing around someone on the right, and often pulls jackass maneuvers behind the wheel just because he can. Furthermore, my driving record isn’t spotted with reckless driving citations and speeding tickets, is it? No! But someone else’s record is. Guess whose!

I think next time I'll just pull over, saunter over to the passenger's side, yank his butt out of the seat, plop myself down, and never again drive with him in the car.