Backseat Drivers

I just wanted to share a little conversation with you, because it brought such joy to my heart.

While we were in Bigger Town, USA over the weekend, Hubs’ GPS died, and he didn’t have the little cable to plug it in with. That little gem had been left at home, but at least we all had clean socks in the suitcase to go with the GPS’s dead batteries, and I will admit that it was a bit of a relief not to hear the woman with the English accent proclaim, “Turn right in point-six miles” all day long. Or, more accurately, to hear her say, “Recalculating.” A friend of Hubs’ once told him, “I like to set my GPS to the gal with the English accent, because then I feel like James Bond.” Clearly, we’re playing 007 in our Suburban now, too.

Since I was driving in a section of Bigger Town which I’d never even been in before, and since my anxiety tends to skyrocket a bit when I’m on unfamiliar roads with people honking at me and trying to get around me, I was capable of being flustered.

But I wasn’t. I was still sailing smoothly, which was a blessing.

Hubs told me to turn at one point, and we ended up on a road which was clearly not the road we’d intended to be on. I told Hubs, “Great. Now what do I do?”

“Well, my theory is that all roads come out somewhere.”

“That’s your theory? All roads come out somewhere?”

“Yep. I haven’t been on a road yet which didn’t come out somewhere.”

“What about a dead-end street?”

“They come out in a dead end, and then you turn around and do some back-tracking, and then you come out somewhere.”

“So this road is going to come out somewhere?”

“Yep. I don’t know if it’ll be the somewhere where we want to be, but it’ll be somewhere.”

“Great. I can hardly wait to see where we end up.”

And, out of the backseat, the little voice of our only child piped up, as he asked, “Hey, Dad, can one stick of dynamite blow up an entire house, or would you need two sticks for that?”

Every day, people. This is my life.

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