The other day, I accidentally made a wrong turn downtown when I should've known the way. Seth had to get back home to #2, so he was understandably upset and impatient. I was mad that he was mad, and when we got close enough to home, he jumped out of the vehicle at an intersection and raced home.
I hate it when my driving skills are questioned. I think that driving is very personal for everyone. Like I've heard George Carlin say, "everyone that drives faster than you is a maniac, and everyone that drives slower than you is an idiot."
My perfect driving technique will undoubtedly be my legacy and gift to the world:
Here lies Kerry
Loving Wife, Sister, and Daughter
Inventor of Digitally Transmitted Smells
I'm the Mary Poppins of drivers: practically perfect in every way. So when my automobile operator ego is bruised, it really stings. I was angry that he called attention to my driving faux pas, so I had to reciprocate the humiliation that I felt. I rolled down my window, pointed at Seth, and yelled to a group of old people tourists, "he got out of the car because he has to poop!"
Hmmm...I don’t think it was Seth who caught the brunt of the humiliation on that one. Those old people looked at me with the same look of confused pity that you would bestow upon a woman who's 5 years too old to be wearing an outfit that's 5 sizes too small.
Oh well, the unintentional comedy quickly quelled our anger. Funny how that happens.