Nick and I were driving to a family wedding yesterday. We left with plenty of time, but somehow what should have been a simple drive turned into a bunch of little annoyances.
It started with the fact that it was raining. What is it that turns such a large number of drivers into complete morons when faced with a little drizzle? Really, must one hit the brakes continually?
We got about ten minutes down the road where the right lane suddenly ends, in which we were in. Nick had been trying to merge for awhile, but again-the morons with their brakes were on the road. He finally started to get over and a car behind him suddenly sped up to keep him from merging. Fine-the driver must have been in a hurry. But, wait! This particular person decided to go 17 mph once in front of us.
Now, the mature thing would have been to complain, yet leave this person be. But, we were in a hurry, trying to reach our seats in the pew before the bride walked down the aisle, so Nick did the only thing he could-he tailed the car.
We could tell the driver and his wife were older, mostly because their heads barely stuck out above the seats. That is why we were surprised when the man decided to slow down even more to 12 mph. Yes, 12 mph. Granted the speed limit in that town is 25 mph, but 12? Of course we were in the mini van so everyone weaving around impatiently behind us thought it was our fault for the delay (which it partly was). We could have tried to pass in the no passing zone, but it is one of those towns where the police sit everywhere just waiting for a chance to catch such crazy people.
The slowpoke finally turned left and I kept repeating, "Do not flip him off, Nick, do not flip him off." Nick took the high road and kept his finger to himself. Then I looked over and noticed a lovely bird being thrown our way. I am still wondering whether that wrinkled finger was the man or the woman-either way, it was quite a sight.
We continued on our way, reaching the church five minutes before the ceremony was to start, joined the numerous rows of Rosenfeldts and slid into our seats as the seating of the mothers began. At least it was a fun excuse as to why we were late. "You see, we got stuck behind an old couple that went really slow and then flipped us off."
The adventures continued when we left the church to head to the reception. I was telling Nick where to go, in which he commented, "Why do I need you to tell me where to go in my city?"
As you continue to read, you will find the answer to this question.
I directed him to where everything was finally familiar and kept warning him to get in the right lane because we had to turn soon. As we sped past the road we were supposed to turn right on, he figured he would just keep going and turn at the next road. A mile later I stopped him from turning at the next right as that would have taken us around in the opposite direction and we continued for another mile. Once we reached the road that would take us right down to the reception, he decided to turn right. Ignoring my protests to keep going straight, he said, "I know where I'm going-this way is quicker."
While I continued to explain what the reception was near, he said, "You didn't tell me that! I should have gone straight!"
I showed him a shortcut to avoid going all the way down the hill in the opposite direction (again, he was wondering how I knew these roads in his city) and we were almost there. We could see the building and the guests filing into the lovely hall of food and drinks. We could see the band and lights as we drove past it while Nick looked for the second parking lot that he thought existed.
With the reception hall in our rearview mirrors, Nick continued on for a place to turn around. His anger grew as we passed the entrances and exits for the interstate and we finally found a place of business in which to turn around. We finally pulled into the correct parking lot, noticed everyone parking further down behind the building and Nick makes a left up the hill to park next to the front door.
I bit my tongue to say that the open spot was probably for handicapped people and had to keep from laughing when the sign said, "Reserved for the bride's parents." My mouth watered at the idea of cheese & crackers and an open bar as he slowly backed down the hill, carefully avoiding the guests who were walking up the hill in the rain (in the back of my mind wondering why he did not at least drop me off at the front door since we were just there) and he finally found a spot to park. Even that last moment was full of, "I'm sticking out too far! Do I have more room? Can you get out and check?"
(Once he saw the look on my face with my heels on and the rain pouring down, he got out and checked himself.)
After eight years of marriage, one would think that Nick would learn to trust my sense of direction. Even in his city.
*To note: Nick is much better than me at so many things and this is why I am able to laugh about this story. He knows I love him and respect him and only write this in humor.