You probably remember from older posts that I like organization. Couponman says he likes it when I, for example, organize his closets so his shirts are sorted by long sleeve shirts and short sleeve, then by color. But it never lasts more than one outfit change.
Because of my affinity for this trait, my car is a self-contained vehicle that meets all my needs. I can reach anything I need without assistance. A bottle of water rests in the cup holder at all times. Emergency change, arranged by denomination, is in the console. There’s a small box of Kleenex next to the driver under the radio; and my purse is nearby. There’s a pen sticking out of one cubbyhole and a note pad wedged between the seat and the console.
Today we weren’t taking my car. We were riding in Couponman’s. Before I could sit down on the passenger seat, he grabbed a handful of, you guessed it, coupons and tossed them overhead into the back. He flicked a few crumbs from who knows what on the floor. He threw his large oversized box of Kleenex into the backseat. His infamous GPS lady was sandwiched in between a bottle of lotion and a half-eaten roll of Certs in his console. With the snack wrappers here, there and everywhere, you’d swear he loaned his car to the chickens trying to get into Foster Farms.
We were about ten miles into our thirty mile drive when he started rummaging through the console. His attention to the road was diminished. Driving is the only time he voluntarily takes on multi-tasking. I can’t even get him to answer me if he’s watching television.
“What are you looking for,” I asked.
“A stick of gum,” he answered.
“Can’t you just drive for thirty to forty minutes without fiddling with this and that?” I ask. “You’re making me crazy.”
“My mouth is dry,” he says. “I just want to raise my comfort level.”
“What about raising my comfort level?” I ask. He smiles sheepishly.
“I’ll look for the gum for you.” I raised the top of his console compartment and peered in. It was scary. I look in the glove box. “There’s a half-eaten roll of cookies, an opened baggie of stale chips (I tried one), and a corkscrew in the shape of a heart from a wedding in 2009.”
“I think the cookies are from 2009, too,” he admitted.
“There is no gum,” I said. “Oh, here’s a cough drop.” I picked it up. “Nope, it’s just a wrapper.” I grab a handful of wadded coupons. “I can give you a coupon for gum,” I laughed. “Nope,” I continued, “it’s expired.”
Related posts:
- Too much information
- One scoop shy of a sundae
- Cotton candy and bonding
- Oh, the marvelous things a thumb can do
- Can you pee?
Print This Post
I remember when my daughter got her first car. You described it to a TEE. Maybe couponman is just “young at heart.”
As for riding with him. I did it once. Couponman Driving and Passenger Comfort Level are two very mutually exclusive conditions.
I must remember to never let you ride in my car — although I am much better than Coupon Man about paying attention to my driving! My car is never clean — inside or out! Everything else I am pretty organized and pretty anal about — but my car is a different story.
Great post!
No wonder we always got on so well together! Phil, if you ever need another wife, I can probably fill in pretty well for Penny as far as personality and character go!
Your car sounds like my purse, except the water. (I have those things in my car too.) Kindred friends ~ that’s what we are.
Pingback: The little dummy in all of us | So Humor Me