It’s a car weekend. We don’t own a car, for financial reasons, mostly, but rent one from time to time. And my wife, with her women and craft brewing project, Harpy Hour, has been invited to an out-of-town beer festival.
So I’m driving. This is not the first of such arrangements — it’s probably the fourth or fifth time we’ve done a day trip or longer trip where I’m the driver and she’s… the drinker? That doesn’t sound right.
And it’s fine. Not “Gunshow cartoon” fine, but generally fine. It’s taken a bit of mental jiggery-pokery to get there, though: I have to enjoy the drive, and bring stuff to do while my wife does her thing. The iPad is a godsend. My new phone plan (my phone got replaced post-theft) with its 10GB data plan will be a godsend. I’ll find things to do.
But yeah! It’s been a bit of interior work to be… okay with this. Full disclosure: I told my wife I’d be talking about this today, and she’s kind of displeased. She doesn’t like the image of me being the slave-chauffeur to my boozy spouse. Which is completely understandable. It’s not a great look.
The fact of the matter is, when there’s drinking on the menu, somebody’s gotta drive, and when I don’t drink, the choice is pretty obvious. If there were an alternate, parallel hobby set where, I don’t know, I’d go to cut-your-legs-off festivals and people were to chop my legs off as my passion, I’m sure she’d drive! But that’s where we’re at.
The positive side of all of this is I’m not really jealous (honest) and I don’t feel driven to drink by this. Strangely, being around booze is less of a trigger to inspire booze desires than stress or complacency.
But it does take work to get there. Getting over the pure selfish instinct of “I’m giving up my day for this.” I have to actually grapple with my inner child and smack that kid in the head and say “this is a partnership, dummy.”