We went to a Super Bowl party in New Jersey this weekend. The trip down was nice-- we took our newer car, so I had a heated seat, nice music on the stereo and the chance to relax while we meandered through a bunch of small New York towns. It was nice.
The way home? Not so much.
Instead of taking the same route home, we decided to stick to the highways. But we weren't sure how to navigate the maze of parkways, throughways and interstates that is New Jersey, so we agreed to follow the Pretend Husband's friend until we hit the state line.
The guy is one of the most relaxed dudes I know... until, apparently, he gets behind the wheel of a car. He shot off the stop line like he was out to win the race, and didn't let up the next hour. I had to put the pedal to the floor to keep up with him (and his souped-up Geo Metro or whatever it was...) and pull maneuvers that would give any driving teacher the shakes.
I was white-knuckled enough and can only imagine how scared the PH was (I literally couldn't take my eyes off the road to look at him, but I could hear the fear in his voice). Rather than finding the interstate, we jumped on and off of parkways and at one point, were in some random neighborhood in New York City (I think). We sped up to beat the cars getting on to the highway, we waited until the last second to change lanes and we flew through toll booth lanes.
I told the PH I felt like I was in "Grand Theft Auto" and was being chased by the cops. But we did get home 15 minutes faster than the trip down there and, despite running on very little sleep, I don't think my eyes came close to closing even once. Adrenaline-- and the fear of dying in a fiery car crash-- will do that to you.
So many books...
2 years ago