He drives me crazy

Apparently, Blogger has changed the way pictures work, and now I'm very confused.

I was in a good, giddy mood one day last week. I was feeling thankful and a bit flirty. So I texted the husband.

"If we weren't married, I would totally want to marry you."

That was before remembering what it's like to be in a car with him.

We took C to the mall so he could meet "Bob-bob" yesterday, before picking J up from his weekend with his father. We had a nice time at the mall, but the 30 minutes there, another 15 to get to J, and 45 minutes back home left me wondering how we've managed to avoid divorce.

Don't get me wrong. He probably wants to kill me just about as much as I'd like to kill him when we're stuck in a vehicle together. As annoying as he can be, I'm sure my broken mute button drives him crazy. I try real hard to bite my tongue as much as possible, but it doesn't usually help.

First, the husband seems to have a strange "Man Controls Radio" mentality. I used to think he simply subscribed to the same theory my mother always did: S/he who drives chooses the tunes. Nope. Any time I've driven his car, he's still hogged the dial. So I figured it was a "My Car, My Choice" thing. Nope. When we get into my car, regardless of who is driving, he gathers up a bunch of cd's, all of his iPod equipment, and his arm basically camps out around all of the buttons.

I've pretty much learned to suck it up, at least in his car. If he's chosen decent tunes in mine, I can keep my mouth shut. I only fuss when he tries to play garbage on MY radio. Since we were in his car yesterday, I spent a good 20 minutes listening to a very staticky broadcast of some sporting event, and I didn't make a peep until the static turned into an extremely high pitched squeek that nearly burst my ear drums.

Then there's the climate control. The husband has, like, -6% body fat. No insulation what so ever. While I hate the cold, I also hate winter coats. So, I'm sitting there in a t-shirt and hoodie, while he's bundled up in a huge coat, and I'm sweating my butt off while he's shivering. This is one of those annoyances I hate dealing with. I certainly don't want to boil to death, but I also don't want to force the husband to freeze his cajones off. So I wait until I think I might pass out before telling him to shut the damn heat off or face being cajones-less anyway.

There's also the speed limit thing. He isn't terrible on main roads, just on the mile it takes to get to them. Our development's speed limit is 25, and security will totally bang you for breaking it. And I happen to be on a committee dedicated to rule enforcement- even the ones I disagree with. I finally told him that, if he gets a ticket, I get to go have a chat with his coworkers and embarass HIM!

Then there's the actual driving. Which is where I drive him nuts.

When he didn't get into the turn lane for the mall, I shouted and he quickly moved over before telling me he had intended to use the second entrance. When we were leaving, he wasn't getting into the left turn lane, so I shouted and he quickly moved over before telling me he intended to take the back road.

By the time I pointed out yet another turn, I'm sure he wanted to throw me out of the car. Meanwhile, I was secretly hoping he'd get on the highway in the wrong direction just so I could feel justified.

I managed to keep my mouth shut when he didn't pass a minivan doing 20 in a 55, and when I thought he was awfully close to parking in a ditch at the convenience store, but I think the hand over my mouth gave me away.

Cars just aren't marriage-friendly. I could be snowed in with my husband and be happy. We could be trapped in an elevator or stranded on an island and I'd be just fine. Just don't put me in a damn car with him!

I've calmed down a bit since last night. I'm pretty confident that, if we weren't married, I would totally marry this guy. Providing we don't drive to the ceremony together.