Saturday,
December 8, 2001

AAAAAIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

*pant*pant*faint*

Now I understand why they say you should never teach your spouse how to drive unless you really want to see the inside of a divorce court. As those of you playing along at home may remember, Lyndon is working towards getting his driver's license toot sweet (aka he's not taking classes at some esteemed place of automotive learning like Sears, as that would take too long). He didn't pass his first attempt, but did get a permit so he can now drive on the street as long as a licensed driver is sitting next to him.

Guess who that licensed driver is? Mmm-hmm.

So he woke up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning and asked if we could go out and practice driving while we were shopping. Sounds like a good idea, I say (obviously half out of my tiny mind already), so we proceed down to the Hoosiermobile and strap ourselves in.

Now, this is where I made my first mistake. It's December, it's Saturday, tons of people are out shopping and none of them are in a good mood. So what do I do? I tell him to get out onto Independence (aka a major thoroughfare). As cars are zipping by us, Lyndon is getting more and more nervous and keeps apologizing to me profusely every time he drifts towards the curb or lets a car get too close. This irritates me because I don't want him to apologize, I want him to concentrate on the road.

And then, we need to turn left onto Spring Creek Parkway, yet another major thoroughfare. It's at this junction that we discover Lyndon isn't too comfortable yet with the clutch on the Hoosiermobile (I drive a stick), and stalls it in the left turn lane. And stalls it again when he tries to go. And stalls it again, mainly because he's nervous as hell and isn't giving it enough gas. As one light cycle goes by and we have a line of angry Texans forming behind us, all of whom are suffering from Christmas Shopping Stress and are probably armed to boot, I finally tell him to vacate and we run around the car and change seats.

He apologizes all the way to Goodwill (we're looking for a cheap old bookcase he can use in his office). And apologizes all the way through Goodwill, and on the way to CompUSA. I finally get him to realize that I'm not upset, it's not his fault, and I understand he's scared -- we just need to work some more on clutch control before he heads out into major traffic.

Which will be tomorrow. Pray for me?