My wife drives almost everywhere we go as a family. Most men wouldn’t want that, but I’m ok with it. Her car is nicer and larger than mine, so by default it is the family truckster. My car, by the way, is 10 years old and was once my wife’s. It’s paid for and I like that.
That doesn’t mean this arrangement isn’t without trouble. When we are on familiar local roads, everything is mostly hunky-dory. With the exception of a few reminders for her to slow down, I rarely have a problem with how she drives. It’s a different story we get out of town.
Susan isn’t very good with her sense of position. That’s different than a sense of direction. She is very god with directions. She knows east from west, etc. But position is knowing whether places are east or west of your current location. That’s where I come in. I have to give directions, and this is where it all falls apart for us.
I say something that seems very clear and logical to me. My wife hears something different. She does what she hears and that sets the trouble in motion. We get along well except when we argue, and this is one of those things we argue about.
Usually by about the third direction, I shut up and let her problem solve on her own. This usually works.
I’m sure a lot of you are thinking I’m a jerk. But this is what works for us. It would be a lot worse if I drove because my wife is a terrible passenger. Her appraisal of my driving is that I’m a poke who drives like Mr. Magoo. I will admit to driving the speed limit pretty much wherever I go. I use my turn signals and I stop for yellow lights. I take full advantage of the more deliberate effort of driving now that we live in North Carolina after growing up and earning my chops on the crazy streets of Boston and surrounding suburbs. But this drives my wife bonkers and she doesn’t fail to let me know this.
It’s just better this way. We disagree. Sometimes we strenuously object. But mostly we have a difference of opinion and move on. It works. It’s not great. But it works.
