My husband and I do not see the road the same way. I see it as an endless stream of opportunities for adventure. He sees it as a mode for getting from here to there.
He drives interstates and major highways. He's fixed on arrival. I drive back roads and city streets. I'm fixed on what I can see along the way.
I'll pull over to take a picture of a watermelon busted in the road. I'll drive an hour out of the way to visit the national coon-dog cemetery. But my beloved balls at letting his passengers go to the bathroom or fortifying us with food. His disposition forces me to use strong words with him.
"Buy me some chocolate or lose me forever," I demand. I'm surprised and thrilled when he pulls in to a convenience store. It normally requires more prodding.
When he doesn't get out of the car, I nudge him. "What's wrong? Aren't you going to get my chocolate? You heard what I said."
"Yeah," he responds, still not moving. "It's a tough decision."
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