Post-Traumatic Farmboy Syndrome (PTFB) can rear its ugly head at the most inconvenient times.
On Sunday as we made our way home from the grocery store, TGIM-- who was in the midst of recounting a terribly amusing story about a trainer at his work-- pulled cautiously into a left-hand turning lane on the main street running through the city, looked both ways, and turned into the intersection. Ooh, mad props for the exemplary driving skillz, right? A total Safety Boy, yielding, looking both ways, watching for danger, proceeding with caution, right?!
Wrong.
We were at a red light. A RED LIGHT! No green arrow! No blinking yellow! A RED freaking LIGHT! It all happened so quickly, I only had time to gasp out a terrified, "OOOOOOOH!"and do the hands-to-the-dashboard thing. I may have clenched my eyes shut, as well. I don't know why. I suppose I have no particular interest in actually WATCHING as my life flashes before my eyes. You know, repression and whatnot.
TGIM never paused in his storytelling, but when I finally managed to unclench my eyes and began frantically searching the streets for cop cars, traffic cameras, a CHiPs-style ten-car pile up in our wake, he did glance over at me and cock an eyebrow as if to say, Um, excuse me? I am telling a terribly amusing story, Cat, and you are not paying proper homage to my superior anecdotal detail with your childish, wide-eyed, Oh My Gosh You Are Such A Crazy Driver antics. How rude. Or, you know, something to that effect.
I admit to slight voice immodulation when I am under extreme emotional duress or have imbibed large quantities of Dr. Pepper, rendering me unable to control the pitch or volume of my voice. So, when I am trying to say, "Um, honey? What's going on? You may not have noticed this, but you just ran a red light," it comes out as "GAAAAAAH! HOLY MOTHER OF HEAVEN! YOU JUST RAN A RED LIGHT, MAN! A RED LIGHT! ARE YOU INSANE?!"
"I did?" He glanced in the rear view mirror, then turned around and looked behind us. Then he looked at me and flashed one of those nervous, uh-oh! kind of smiles.
"Heh. I did, didn't I? Heh-heh..."
"YOU'RE LAUGHING?! WE COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED! OH! MY HEART! MY HEART!"
TGIM turned down a quiet, tree-lined, neighborhood street, pulled up to a stop sign, and this time, thankfully, actually stopped.
As I put my hand to my pounding chest, engaged in a few deep, cleansing breaths, and muttered something about, "Left on reds may be okay in a tractor on the FARM, but city folk don't play dat," he looked at me and said in his most matter-of-fact voice, "You're going to blog this, aren't you?"
My heart was still somewhere in the vicinity of my throat, so I stayed quiet. We stared at each other for a moment, then TGIM struck his best, most nonchalant left-arm-hanging-out-the-window, right-wrist-on-top-of-the-steering-wheel, eyes-peeled-for-danger pose.
And there we sat.
For one minute.
Two minutes.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.
"OH! MY! GOSH! ARE YOU GOING TO GO OR WHAT?! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!"
He jerked out of his pose, quickly put the car into gear, and accelerated through the intersection.
"WELL?!" (Damn that voice immodulation.)
"I was waiting for the green light," he admitted, with a sheepish grin.
I just stared at him, wide-eyed and silent.
"You are already writing this in your head, aren't you, Cat?"
"Oh, ho, ho... yes I am."
11 Comments:
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Unknown commented:
Hee hee hee...
Thos guys we married -- they sure keep us on our toes, don't they?
Typically, when we get what *I* refer to as close to another car (Hubby disagrees), I will usually suck in my breath and close my eyes and count to ten. Sometimes, I'll grab his arm (the one resting on the console between us)
When I open my eyes, Hubby looks at me and asks "What?" like we were miles away from any other civilzation.- » 8/24/2005 7:12 AM
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LadyBug commented:
Were you doing that thing I do, where you stomp on the invisible brake in the passenger-side floorboard?
- » 8/24/2005 8:34 AM
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Cat commented:
Though I have been known to do the passenger-side air-brake on occasion, this situation demanded the double-footed dig in. Which-- I believe-- I executed to perfection, if I do say so myself.
;)- » 8/24/2005 8:45 AM
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Random and Odd commented:
LOL. TGYM and Shaun would just have a hayday with us huh?
I think Shaun has said those exact words to me about a million times in the past 2 years.
"You're blogging this, huh?" and "You're already writing it in your head."
ROTFLMAO.
I can't wait for all of us to hang out.
The best part will be knowing that the side of the story that will be told will only be OURS because they don't blog!
We could make things up!!- » 8/24/2005 9:11 AM
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Joseph commented:
Nick is always pushing on the brake pedal on the passanger side of the car. He! He! He!
I think it's in the relationship manual somewhere...I'm sure of it.- » 8/24/2005 9:29 AM
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LadyBug commented:
Ahh, the double-footed dig in. I have executed that one myself, many times.
I also do the white-knuckled-hanging-on-to-the-handle-above-the-Suburban-door-oh-THAT'S-what-it's-for thing. (I believe someone else in blogland has called that handle the "Oh Shit! Handle."- » 8/24/2005 10:34 AM
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Not-So-Normal-Mom commented:
I am cracking up! I can totally picture TGYM giving you a sheepish grin! Oops! I have to wear glasses when I drive, so I have learned to take them off when my hubby drives. It eliminates most of the heart-thumping.=)
- » 8/24/2005 11:20 AM
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Cat commented:
No, mrtl, THAT is cute!
Heh. "Crash!" That's priceless...- » 8/24/2005 2:50 PM
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commented:
AWESOME. All of it - the left turn, the dashboard grip, the nonchalant pose, the waiting for the green light, the voice immodulation, especially the voice immodulation - AWESOME.
- » 8/24/2005 3:26 PM
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Amy commented:
I love it all, too. Blogging is so good for giving everything that little edge of perspective. When things are happening and you are thinking about blogging them, you are already getting over it.
- » 8/25/2005 5:59 AM
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commented:
Thank you for the comment on my blog. This is a great post. I love that he *knew* you we're going to post about it.
- » 8/25/2005 7:33 PM