Two Wrongs Don't Make A Right
Let me just start by saying that my husband drives like an absolute lunatic. He speeds, he weaves, he makes me white-knuckled and crazy anytime he’s behind the wheel. We went to northern Michigan for a mini-vacation recently and his drive home was no exception. He was going 90 miles an hour for the whole trip practically (which is five hours), with me screaming at him the entire time to slow his ass down. He had precious cargo in the car, between the kids and me, duh. He can pull that sort of thing on his own time, but my word, slow down with the car seats buckled in. Anyway, I digress.
As we approach the exit to go back to our house, after almost five hours, he gets pulled over. I start screaming at him, wondering why he couldn’t have just listened to me the whole way. Of course, once I got heated, our kids started crying. What a mess. When the police officer approached our car, I wanted to pipe in, but he stopped me and said he’d handle it. It was a female officer – so I started laughing to myself. My husband would get pulled over by a girl cop; it just made the story so much better for rubbing it in his face later, as I thought to myself. She clocked him going 90 miles per hour, which is reckless for the 70 miles an hour in that zone. With a stern tone, she handed him his ticket. We drove the few remaining miles home in silence, aside from our daughter’s lingering sniffles after her tears had dried.
We got back into the house, put the kids to bed, and I just went off – screamed like a banshee at him about how dangerous he is behind the wheel, how I won’t put up with it, and on and on. I carried on for longer than I’d care to admit. In hindsight, I should have cut him a break – he had already gotten enough from the police officer, and he certainly didn’t need it from his wife, too. Plus, it was a crappy way for me to have rounded out our vacation. This all makes sense now, but at the time, all I could do was scream. So, we went to bed.
The next morning, I woke up and said I’d run to grab coffee for us. I got in the car in the garage, buckled up, and promptly smashed it into the side of the garage. Karma’s a real bitch. I wasn’t hurt, aside from my pride. All I could do was laugh. I came back into the house, kissed my husband deeply in our kitchen, and walked him out to the garage, where we laughed together. It was such a fail that neither of us knew how else to even handle it. So, sometimes all you can do is laugh. Remember, two wrongs don’t make a right – I should have been nicer, and I clearly should have paid more attention. In the end, we were all safe, which is all that mattered, and he and I both make sure to be patient with one another’s shortcomings. It’s all you can do – and of course, laugh along the way. If you don’t, what’s the point?