We have a friend who’s getting married in March. If you follow along on the regular, you’ve met her. Candy Critchfield was an Overdrive feature of mine last year, and she’s found herself a Gary and they’re going to hitch it up and become the Weir Bunch. We wish them the very best and certainly plan on being in Idaho for their nuptials next year.
She was telling me that she and Gary planned on meeting up at home for Thanksgiving, and then driving teams for a while. Needless to say, they’ve gotten a lot of unsolicited advice on how driving teams will make or break a relationship real quick-like. And while I don’t drive, I do spend a lot of time in the truck with my husband, and I know it can be stressful. However, you get what you give and learning to compromise makes any relationship stronger — so I also know it’s not a deal breaker.We have our own little world inside the truck, one where we’ve both learned to ignore one another at the correct times. He can block out my loud and terrible singing and I can ignore his fascination with boobs. Most of the time. I put my foot down about the bobble boob dash girl — I just couldn’t go with it.
“That needs to go.”
“Take me to your cleavage…”
“What?! Are you kidding me? I ordered her especially for this trip!”
“I can’t be distracted by springy boobs the entire 3,000 miles. We’re in a ten-year-old Freightliner. By the time we hit Arkansas, her springs will be sprung and those boobs will be all gross and dangly.”
He realized the validity of my point, and also didn’t care to hear me bitch, so he took her off the dash. I know, I’m such a spoil-sport, but she also made an annoying clacking noise, and she had on Auburn colors, so I couldn’t bring myself to like her at all.
The most important thing to realize when traveling in close quarters (for extended periods of time) with your chosen mate is that men and women have completely different thought patterns. The sooner you realize this, and are able to circumvent the patterns, the better off the relationship will be. Case in point: shared passwords. “Hey, what was the password to that account?”
“No. Boob-ear.” “What the hell is a boob-ear?”
“The password to that account.”
“I don’t mean that, I mean … never mind.”
Choose your battles, Candy Girl, life is much easier when you don’t try to understand the intricacies of a man’s mind. Enjoy your time together!