Thursday, November 11, 2010

Never Negotiate with a Woman with Road Rage

We were getting a Prius.
Or so he said.

I wasn't thrilled about the idea.

He said we were going green.
I started to make a scene.

I come from a family of car crazies.
"I need to uphold the tradition of speeding tickets and questionable control behind the wheel," I argued.

I did not believe a Prius could handle that kind of responsibility.

"I need something with pep," I explained.

"The Prius is peppy, you'll see," he said. "Larry David drives one," he added.

I love Curb Your Enthusiasm, but I was not buying a Prius just because Larry had one.

"Just think about it," he begged as he kissed me goodbye and sent me off to my friend's wedding. "I'll see you tonight, after my cousin's party."

"Ok, but can you tell me how to get to the church again?"

He walked me through my turns and I was on my way, driving his slightly tattered generic white sedan. 20 minutes later, I made a panicked call from my cell phone:

"Sorry to interrupt the party, but are you sure you gave me the right directions?"

"Yes, Magellan, just keep driving straight another couple of miles and you'll see it. Love you."

I rolled on, staring at the clock. I had 5 minutes to get to the wedding.

"All weddings start late, they must be starting at least 10 or 15 minutes late," I convinced myself.

10 minutes passed. I made a frantic call:

"I am lost. It is NOT this way!"

"Wait, let me ask my dad," he responded nervously. I checked the clock. A time bomb was about to blow.

"Babe? I AM SO SORRY. It's the other direction."

"WHAT?!!!! I'm going to miss the whole goddamn wedding!" I yelled, pounding on the steering wheel.

"I ---"

"You told me not to print directions because you knew where it was!"

"I'm sorr-"

"I have to go!" I yelled. I stomped on the gas pedal and nearly took out a cyclist next to me. I flirted with tears but got a grip - of the wheel - and floored it. The car barely stayed in one piece as I zoomed up to the church.

I ran clumsily in my heels up to the church door. It was locked. A middle-aged usher in an ill-fitting suit frowned at me and shook his head. I was forced to wait outside. Apparently, not all weddings go off late. I watched the bride and groom kiss from behind a dingy window outside the front door.

I felt my face scorching, my blood pressure jumping off the charts.

I turned my phone off and refused to answer my soon-to-be husband's apologetic calls for the next two hours. When I did call him back, I spoke in a cool and calm voice that is often attributed to violent criminals:

"I missed the wedding. The entire ceremony. LOCKED OUT OF THE CHURCH! I drove like a maniac to get there, but was too late."

"Babe, I am so sorr---"

" I punched the steering wheel . . ."

"You punched ---?" He giggled.

"Sore knuckles and all, I concluded that I need a car with good handling and quick pickup that can handle such situations."

He paused nervously. "Is the Prius . . . ?"

"Off the table," I told him definitively.

"Ok, fine," he conceded. "The Prius is dead."


"And, in exchange, you'll never bring this up again?"

"Never again," I said curtly.

We were getting a Mercedes.
Or so I said.

He smiled behind the wheel,
a win-win situation and, all in all, a pre-tty pre-tty good deal.

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