Saturday, December 12, 2009

Redneck vacation, day 2

You know those couples who say they can't wait to retire so they can travel the world together?

Okay, that's not me and The Hubster. We can barely manage to make the 40 mile drive to church each week without killing each other, and the only reason that in-vehicular manslaughter hasn't occurred (yet) is because neither of us would want to clean out the car afterward.

Here's the thing. I was instructed under the old philosophy of "defensive driving," which taught me to assume that every other driver on the road is an idiot, suffering from dementia, and probably under the influence of illegal substances to boot. On top of that, I grew up in New Jersey, where everyone I knew had burly, hirsute cousins named Rocco and Joey who, if you cut them off on the freeway, would come to your house and do bad things to you or your cat. (I had a very pink cousin named Geoffrey who was into raising African violets and later turned out to be gay, so the most threatening thing he would do was make fun of your shoes.)

So. When I drive, I try to keep a nice space of paranoia - er, safety, between my car and the vehicles around me.

I don't think Hubster's ever heard of defensive driving. His theory is that every other person on the road is there for the express purpose of making his drive utterly miserable. He's convinced there's a vast conspiracy of crappy drivers who just sit in their crappy cars, waiting to hear that Mr. TC has left his driveway, so they can pull out of their crappy garages and then drive on HIS road at 30 miles an hour under the speed limit. Just to piss. him. off.

On top of that, he drives a Ford F350 - an pickup truck that's big enough to house an entire Mexican village. So Hubster doesn't do the whole bubble of safety thing. Quite the opposite. He gets as close as possible to other cars or trucks, because he genuinely believes that his truck has the ability to suck up a smaller vehicle through the air intake system and then poop it out through the exhaust pipe.

Needless to say, we don't do well together in the car, especially when Hubster is driving. I gasp a lot, and end up arriving at our destination with strained forearm muscles from holding onto the door frame. Hubster thinks I should wear a burka with the eye slit sewn shut.

So it was a long 1500 miles from Texas to upstate New York. Even with the burka.