Those of you that know me well probably would not put "excellent driver" on my list of attributes. I tend to be a fairly aggressive with both the gas and brake pedal, convinced that other drivers are on the road merely to test my already limited patience. I'm often more focused on my destination rather than the actual route to the destination, and the fact that my newest car has the capacity to hold a venti latte and blast any given playlist on my ipod only further serves to distract me from the task I'm actually in the vehicle for. And I'm sure all those hours racing Mario Kart have done nothing for my road skills. Other than pretty much guarantee that I'll be needing a new set of brakes in the next 2,000 miles.
Add to that the fact that I am usually accompanied by two creatures in the backseat that are demanding a NEW SONG! or ROLL MY WINDOW DOWN! or I DROPPED MY GOLDFISH IN THE SEAT CRACK AND NEED IT BACK RIGHT NOW! or HAYDEN TOUCHED ME! or RIELY STINKS! and you will begin to see why I am sometimes a distracted driver.
That distraction has led to me to be a bit careless when it comes to backing out of our driveway. Sometimes my tires stray off the pavement into the tree lawn or over the curb. Which wouldn't be so bad, except there happens to be a sprinkler head approximately 1/4" off the edge of our driveway. And it's become well acquainted with my tire, a fact my husband was less than happy about.
To try and assist me (and keep from replacing the sprinkler head on an alarmingly regular basis), Mike installed an idiot stick at the edge of the driveway, which is basically a reflective marker that indicated where I shouldn't drive. Which apparently is defined as the tree lawn. Who knew? I'd been doing fairly well using my mirrors and navigating out of the driveway correctly until recently when it snowed. And as everyone knows, when it snows, you need a scarf, tied rakishly around your neck (you can check this in your car's vanity mirror!) And a big warm mug of coffee with you in the car. And those things just might distract you when you are backing out of the driveway until WHAP! you realize too late that you've just run over said stick. And even though it pops right back up, the tracks in the snow make it very evident that you ventured into the forbidden area that is Sprinkler-Head Land. Ooooops.
When I arrived home that evening, Mike was waiting for me in the driveway, standing right by the smoking tire tracks. I sheepishly tried to make numerous excuses, but he just offered a resignated sigh before officially crowning me The World's Worst Driver. To which I had only one reply: OH YEAH? WELL I CAN KICK YOUR ASS IN MARIO KART!
So in honor of all he puts up with, I did this page for the KI Memories blog as a little ode to my patient, though currently exasperated, husband:
He puts up with me and all my crazy and sometimes dim-witted antics. And he still loves me. For that, I am grateful.
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