By Mike Pound
Globe Columnist
JOPLIN, Mo. —
My wife scares me to death.
Not in the usual way but in a way that I really hadn’t seen before.
Let’s face it, most veteran husbands, when pressed, will admit that their wives scare them to death. Look, by the time you get to be a veteran husband there aren’t many folks who scare you.
“Wait, Mike,” you say. “What about veteran husbands’ bosses at their work?”
Please. Most veteran husbands look at their work as a place to get away from their veteran wives. By the way, a couple of years ago my friends Nancy and Jerry got into a discussion about whether wives can be referred to as “veteran” in the same way that husbands can. It was Jerry’s contention that they can’t and it was Nancy’s contention that they can. As much as it pained me at the time, I had to side with Nancy.
For me, it was only a matter of fairness. I figure if someone lives with me for more than a couple of years they have done more than enough to earn the title of “veteran.” Of course, I also know Nancy well enough to say that Jerry has done enough to earn the title of “grizzled veteran.”
Ever make a joke that you know will get you in trouble?
Anyway, because most guys look at work as an escape from home, their bosses don’t really scare them. Most veteran husbands also are not afraid of their children. Their children may confuse them. They may drive them crazy. But they don’t scare them.
I know that whenever I find myself doing something I probably shouldn’t, the first thought that runs through my head is: “Whoa. This is really going to *&^% off my wife.”
So, yes, my wife scares me pretty much on daily basis. But this past week, my wife found an entirely new way to scare me: By driving.
We had to make a quick trip to Branson and my wife decided to do the driving. Normally, I drive on our trips. I don’t drive on our trips because I figure it’s the mandated role of the veteran husband. I drive because I like to drive and my wife prefers to sit in the passenger seat and say things to me that I don’t pay attention to.
On Wednesday, my wife drove us to Branson while I sat in the passenger seat and tried to close my eyes. Now, granted, it can be a bit unnerving to switch perspective from the driver’s to the passenger’s seat. But I don’t think it’s much of an exaggeration to suggest that my wife drives like a crazy person.
When we got onto the highway, since my wife was driving the car I usually drive, she asked me how to set the cruise control. I told her. Then I said, “Uh, you just set the cruise for 79 miles per hour.”
“I don’t tell you how to drive, do I?” my wife said.
Actually my wife does tell me how to drive. But I didn’t say that. Instead, I closed my eyes.
A few minutes later, I made the mistake of opening my eyes. My wife was talking to someone on her cell phone. She was driving 79 mph in the outside lane and fast approaching a car that was driving what appeared to be a more reasonable 74 mph. Based on pure physics, our car was rapidly approaching the car going 74 mph. For a few seconds, I kept my mouth shut. But as we got closer to the car in front of us I politely screamed: “WATCH OUT!!!! WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO, GET US ALL KILLED?”
My wife looked at me. The look my wife gave me said “I AM ON THE %$#@ PHONE. I SEE THE CAR IN FRONT OF ME. IT IS GOING TOO SLOW. IT NEEDS TO MOVE OVER. SO SHUT YOUR MOUTH OR YOU CAN WALK TO BRANSON.”
Hey Jerry, I’m officially a grizzled veteran now.
Address correspondence to Mike Pound, c/o The Joplin Globe, P.O. Box 7, Joplin, MO 64802, or via e-mail at mpound@joplinglobe.com.
