A Warning to Drivers on Central Expressway

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I’ve been married to the spousal unit long enough to know him and all of his quirks for what they are.  In 13 years together, I think I have an inkling of how he’ll deal with situations as they arise.  Partially this comes from 3 hours on the phone a day for the four years we were long distance, partially this comes from having gone through the seven year itch (there is SOO much truth in that year!) and not murdering him, and partially he’s an engineer and is not that hard to figure out if you follow the tangent.

But, we are about to encounter something alien.  Yes, there is something foreign about to take place, and it truly frightens the boogers outta me.  Hubby dear will soon be commuting into Dallas to work for the first time.  My mild-mannered engineer geek is a lunatic behind the wheel.  If you could take Larry the Cable Guy and breed him with AJ Foyt and Mario Andretti?  That child?  Would be Puppy at the wheel.  A crazed, demonic presence with a little bit of twang around the edges. 

The worst part?  He thinks he’s a “good” driver.  The proof? He has not had any tickets or accidents recently.  I am obviously very afraid some other crazed Texan will take Puppy’s hand gestures the wrong way and in a fit of rage off him.  You put this person on a freeway during morning rush-hour?  And, you try to make him prove his theory that all traffic jams (and most societal ills, actually) are caused by mini vans? Dear Lord.  This is NOT going to be pretty.

Why does he suddenly get a commute?  Well, his charming employer says he does good work.  So, he needs to be moved to a new site in town to help bail out a problem area.  The job he’s being given was for someone one “salary grade” above where he is, but they refuse to give him the promotion to go with it.  And, considering he lives two miles from work now, and we moved up here to the boonies to be near the office, you’d think they’d at least give us a little gas money for the now 40 mile round trip he’ll be making each day, right?  Nope.  Nothing.  The Man is sure sticking it to us!! 

It’s one thing to literally force us to make less money…which is what they are doing, since we’ll be spending much more in gas.  It is an entirely different thing when they take my husband away from his son for an extra hour & a half each day.  Without any compensation. 

If I could get past the armed security guard, past the ID scan, and into the secure area where his boss works?  I might do something to his bony engineering geek arse.  And, you just try me Stan*!! I have Italian relatives.  With a red phone to Palermo.  Capiche?

*not his real name

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Filed under I love the Puppy, Outta moolah, Uncategorized