I can't sleep while my husband is driving because I'm totally convinced that my co-piloting skills have single-handedly saved us from at least 3,562 life-threatening accidents. Yeah, I keep count.
"How do you think I've stayed alive all these years when I drive by myself?" he asks.
"Sheer luck," I say. "And statistical improbability."
"What do you know about statistics?"
"Nothing," I say. "It just sounded smart. Now watch the road, you've been riding the reflectors."
"Riding the reflectors?" he laughs. "RIDING.THE.REFLECTORS? I hit one reflector. That's called grazing the reflector."
"Whatever," I say. "You're ping-ponging between the reflectors on either side of the lane."
"I'm not ping-ponging," he says.
"Totally you are. It's like driving by braille."
He shakes his head. I know this means he's laughing on the inside.
"You're such an exaggerator," he says.
"If I don't exaggerate the danger, you'd start driving on the wrong side of the road on purpose."
"OK, that one time I drove the wrong way on a one-way street wasn't on purpose. I just didn't see the one-way sign."
"Exactly! Which is why you need my co-piloting skills. I see everything."
"Your paranoia is going to cause an accident," he says.
"I'm sorry," I say. "It's just that we've got like 8 million kids in the back of this mini-van. I feel personally responsible for their safety and well-being."
"True," he says. "Where did all those kids come from, anyway?"
"I have no idea. But I think my uterus mistook itself for a revolving door."
He laughs. And then he gives me the best compliment. Ever.
"Don't worry," he says. "Your uterus is still hot."
