My husband and I have been happily married for fifteen years. That’s not to say we haven’t hit our bumps in the road, but for the most part, we have a solid relationship. I attribute this to the fact that we are complete equals. We consult each other before we make any big decisions, we both have a say in how the kids are raised, I cook dinner every night and he doesn’t. Oh, wait. But seriously, I respect that he has a long day at work Monday through Friday and he totally gets that while I work part-time from home, my day is equally as grueling. And yet, there’s one issue that makes me feel like we have stepped back into the 1950’s; and that’s the car and his assessment of my driving.
The day starts with me driving him to the station and the kids to school. I race home to do a few hours of work (while simultaneously trying to do laundry, meal prep, walking the dog, feeding the dog, cleaning up after the dog eats too much grass and vomits on the living room carpet) and then the day really begins. Before school lets out I am bringing forgotten lunches to school or camp, grocery shopping, buying birthday gifts. If you are a mom, you get it. And then I’m an Uber driver for the kids. Sometimes this means driving an hour away for a baseball game or sometime this could mean logging 20 miles on the car without even leaving town. I drive and pick up and drop off and pick up again until dinnertime. And sometimes it continues well after dinner.
So when my husband tells me I’m “hard on the car” and questions every scratch or ding and makes comments like, “looks like you got into a fight with curb and the curb won” or “I noticed another white scratch on the door” or “you really need to be more careful in the parking garage” I want to kill him. Or he’ll ask me if I remember how the rims got so scraped up on the front tires. He’s implying that I’m not a careful driver, and that is simply not true. I live in the effing car. He does not. Logic serves that if you drive as much as I do, there’s a higher chance that shit will happen to the car. Scratches, dings, scrapes, what have you.
And while I don’t feel like I should have to hide these things because I’m a grown woman, I have under the recommendation of my friends who are in the same situation, purchased a product called Goo Gone and one swipe of this stuff on the car and a good part of the scrapes disappear. I do this just to shut him up.
As I head into my sixteenth year of marriage, I will try to let this roll off my back. But you can be sure AF that I too, will point out the slightest imperfection on the car after he has taken it out for five minutes over the weekend. Because I just can’t help myself.
