Gawd Is My Co-Passenger?

While the minivan was not purchased as my primary vehicle, rare is the occasion that I find myself riding as opposed to driving.  As the occasional passenger, the better half navigates the minivan through the City of Houston’s guerilla-type traffic with a winner take all strategy.  When she is in this mode, it is  best to egage in some sort of activity (ie. reading book or magazine, checking voicemail, playing one of the kids PSP’s), or practice the art of saying absolutely nothing.  Friendly conversation can sometimes be a good way to smoothe over the nervousness of the endeavor; but the problem of speaking ones mind might come too freely while chattering about whatever.

When riding shotgun, I find myself conveying the importance of fastening ones seat belt while riding in a vehicle to my children.  Other thoughts that pop in the head from time to time?

  1. this is not a sports car
  2. that car had the right of way
  3. this is not a Hum-V
  4. that was a curb
  5. this is how people get shot
  6. that was a pedestrian

Verbalizing these thoughts are things an amateur would do.  Agitating the Mrs increases the chances for more erratic driving.  Saying something can trigger frothy mouthed arguements and petty insults to be tossed into the atmosphere without notice.  On a bad day the kids may have to be brought in for an impromptu poll on who actually drives better? (will not comment on the results)  These sort of things are not common occurences.  However, they are not infrequent enough to say that they never happen.  But on a good day, we ride together, and we ride in peace. We all ride, knowing that The Big Kahuna is riding with us. (at least I hope he is)


2 thoughts on “Gawd Is My Co-Passenger?

  1. Your Mrs. Sounds remarkably similar to a lady that I work with, only instead of driving, she has a guerrilla warfare work style. She maneuvers our cubicle aisle with such vigor that, for her, the aisle is more of a gangway. In her fervor to move about, often leaving bits of her personage behind in forms of used water bottles or empty hard candy wrappers, you dare not say a word to slow her down or you may be met with incoherent rants about her life or a fast-spaced verbal berating which ends with “I got thangs to do!” Perhaps your Mrs. and my colleague would benefit from therapy, or perhaps just a hug so we at the office wont ever have to hear her rebel yell of “You Destroyed Me!” I’m just saying…

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