I think you all know that once the Captain is a fully licensed driver, I intend to never drive again. Instead, he will whisk me from place to place as I chat on my phone or control the radio, and hold the door open for me like a little chauffeur as I dash out of Chapters with an armful of shopping, and take his sisters places while I recline with a new book and a glass of Club Soda on the couch.
However, this plan has recently come under fire for two reasons.
First, he hates driving. We have to force him to practice and he’s a nervous wreck the whole time. It’s getting better, slowly. But I will probably need to wait at least a year until he would even THINK of trying the roundabout that leads out of our subdivision, so unless I want to be swanning around in the three blocks that immediately surround our house – and let me be clear, there are no bookstores there – then I’m out of luck.
Second, I’m a total wreck myself when riding next to him.
Here’s a funny story for my husband to tell at future dinner parties, while everyone sighs knowingly and pats his arm in sympathy. When the Captain first got his license, my husband was outlining a plan for some practice and lessons, and where they would go.
And I was all, “Ooooh, are you sure YOU should be the one to take him out?”
And Sir Monkeypants was like, “Um, YES, most terrible driver in the world, probably NOT YOU should teach him to drive.”
And I was like, “But I’m afraid you two will butt heads and he’ll be stressed out already, so maybe his mom should take him.”
And Sir Monkeypants was like, “YOU BE CRAZY. But fine, have at it.”
So I took the Captain out a few times, and almost had a heart attack. The handle on the door practically came off in my hand, I was gripping it so hard. This was while we were going at about 20 km/hr around our closed-circuit crescent.
I was sure he was going to crash into a parked car, or hit someone while going around a corner. When it was time to pull into the driveway, I was POSITIVE he was going to ram into the garage door and yelled at him to STOP STOP STOP.
(Actually, that was probably correct and I think I was probably right to yell.)
I think I lasted two times. Then I apologized heartily to Sir Monkeypants and begged him to take over, and he was like, “OKAY THEN.”
They are doing better, the two of them. But I am quite happy to be staying home. Guess I’ll put that chauffeur hat away for a while, at least.