Studly Doright came through his surgery yesterday with flying colors. He’s quite proud of the fact that, according to the surgeon, his was quite easily the largest extrusion he’d ever seen. Studly is one competitive man.
Of course, as I drove him home from the hospital last evening I almost pushed him out the door of the car for his constant criticism of my driving:
“Why are you in this lane?”
“You’re going too slow.”
“Slow down” (this said immediately following the previous statement.)
“Don’t let him cut you off!”
“Why’d you take this route? Monroe is faster.”
I pointed out that I’d been successfully navigating for many years, and that I’ve driven many miles quite well without him.
“It’s a wonder,” he said.
What’s a wonder is that I didn’t withhold his pain meds last night. It’s good to be in control.
Peace, people.
Praying for Eyebrowz 
Pleased he’s OK. (My late brother was proud of the fact that what was killing him was a rarity)
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He and Studly could’ve had a good long talk.
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🙂
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Glad he’s through all that. Now pick up your chewed through tongue aff the carpet……
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Glad to hear he’s okay. Hope you had a glass of wine last night.
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No wine for me for while. Damned diverticulitis.
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Oh my, that’s my husband… and he wonders why I’d rather he drive.
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Does yours make you nervous? I’m
normally a very composed driver, but when Studly is in the passenger seat I become a blubbering idiot.
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I think I get more ticked off than nervous. As long as I’m following the rules and driving safely, I just think that not every decision I make deserves a comment. Like you, somehow I got to be this age, have had no accidents (that I’ve caused, anyway), or received a ticket, without his help.
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I wish I would just get ticked off. I was on the verge of tears.
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