I reckon there’s one place that sees more marital arguments than anywhere else. Forget the bedroom, it’s all about the car.
The first argument I ever had with the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine was in his car. I can’t remember the finer details but it had something to do with a disagreement over the speed limit. Sound familiar?
We’re not an argumentative couple, but I think it’s safe to say that 99% of our rows have been in the car. If it’s not over directions then it’s to do with speed, missed road signs or dodgy parking. It doesn’t help that we’re usually running late, which adds to the pressure.
One of our most heated arguments took place on the way to the hospital when I was in labour with Frog. “DON’T DRIVE SO FAST!” I shouted at the NLM. “I’M GOING 40! THE SPEED LIMIT’S 40!” He yelled back. The rest is lost in a midst of contractions and deep breathing.
Then there was the time I made him get out of my car and walk. He’d made one too many comments about my ability to navigate a corner and I lost it. I now refuse to drive with him in the car, unless he promises not to provide a running commentary.
I learned from the best of them. The only arguments I’ve ever witnessed between my parents were in the car. The most memorable was on a holiday in France, when they fell out over my mum’s navigating skills (“You said follow the road round!”), but there were various others too. After a while my mum just refused to drive if my dad was going to be a passenger.
Of course, in my humble opinion, I’m a FAR better driver than my husband. I often tell him that he could learn a thing or two from my driving. He is a prime candidate to test out the More Than telematics Driving Style score, although he’d probably say it was the other way around and I’m the one in need of help.
To my cautious he is speedy. He’s also impatient (“BLOODY SUNDAY DRIVERS!”) and regularly gets bouts of road rage. His usual laid-back temperament goes out the window if he feels the person in front of him is driving badly.
One thing in his favour, though, is that he’s always willing to drive. He actually likes driving. And that’s a big plus when you factor in our regular road trips up north to see his side of the family. I’ve learned to nap on most of the eight hour journey to avoid any driving-related row. There was that one time though, when I realised he’d come off the motorway in the wrong direction and was travelling back towards London instead of up towards Manchester…
Do you know a bad driver? Have you had any driving-related arguments with your other half?
Disclosure: Thanks to More Than for working with me on this post.