My wife does the driving

I am the one behind the wheel

We have a Saturday routine. I go to AA, meet with a sponsee, go to breakfast with my wife, we go run around doing chores.

I drive, she sucks in her breath and scares me to death.

“You are not helping dear!”

We have just cheated death again. A car has just cut across double yellow lines to cut us off into the praking lot. The diver glares at me.

Another guns his truck engine, slides around me cuts in front and gives me the bird.

“I guess I was not going fast enough for him.”

Cheryl is sitting rigid, trying not to gasp, cry out, or otherwise distract me.

“What did I do wrong?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing.”

“Nothing my ass,” I was in the slow lane, he is the one with a problem!”

She tried not to say anything. Both of are heat rates just went up. We got cut off by someone who took great offense to our being in his way. No sense in us fighting.

Except I was right. She should support me. I let it drop. I let the little scare turn to a joke.

“At least I can still take your breath away! Hey, there is a cartoon!”

Later, she likes the gag.

It is not a very exciting life. But, it is a good one and I am greatful.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.