Where driving is concerned, the husband and I are probably fairly typical of our genders.
I stay the course. And he's a lane-changer.
This makes for some interesting travels.
"Can't you get ahead of this guy?" he'll implore me when we're on the road somewhere. "I mean, talk about a slow poke! Get a move on, buddy!" But, as I say, I'll usually stay the course. Generally, I'll see no good reason to change lanes - unless I have to pull over for an ambulance, of course. Or unless the car ahead of me suddenly bursts into flames, something that has never happened in my 40-plus years of driving.
"No, dear," I'll say. "I'm fine where I am."
The husband likes this as much as he likes, oh, a sudden downpour or a stall in the tunnel. Which is to say: not in the slightest.
But I am not a fan of his driving either. To the husband, lane-changing is as integral to driving as braking or accelerating. It's simply part of the process - and it's odd, given that the husband is not normally an impatient type, given to pacing the floor or tapping his fingers when
he has to wait for a table at a restaurant.
When he's behind the wheel, however, the husband will do the driving equivalent of fingertapping.
If he's behind a bus, he'll move to the left. If a truck's up ahead, he'll move to the right.
And for no apparent reason at all, he'll move to the left, then to the right, then to the left, then to the right. To him, this is something that approximates "fun."
Our commutes to work are not exactly a laugh a minute.
On most occasions, the husband will be in the driver's seat, presumably because the trip would take an extra 4.3 minutes if I was in control. So he has his fun. And I have my panic attacks.
"Why can' t you just STAY where you are?" I'll ask. "You just MOVED over to this lane from the far one on the right, and now you're trying to get BACK where you started? This is SO stressful!" "Settle down," he'll say. "The woman in that green car was starting to slow down. Don't forget: I happen to be a GREAT driver." In fact, this is not something I could easily forget. That's because every time I complain about the husband's lane-changing, he will inform me that he is a GREAT driver, certainly much more skilled than I. I am not convinced. To me, a great driver is someone who's alert, but chill. You know, someone who feels no urgency to pass everything else on the road, but is content to remain in place while travelling the speed limit, listening to some lovely classical music and conversing with her travelling companion about the menu for an intimate dinner party.
But alas, it's not as if the husband is going to mellow with Mozart any time soon and happily stay in one place. The husband is keen to be on the move. I just wish he would move a lot less.
