Driving home late, on yet another Saturday night. Another family function. Of course, August. Again, driving my parents. And Hubbie. And baby girl.
Hubbie has drank, as well as had multiple coffees. I love the guy immensely, but he is a DRAINER. He just won’t stop talking. I’m like “shhh!”
“She won’t wake up!” He proclaims about baby girl, an octave louder.
“You have to respect women,” he’s saying to my parents in the back seat. I internally eye roll. “I’ve always believed that, but now even more after baby girl… imagine now, I’m in the back, with SmikG, and baby girl is at the front with her husband. I want to make sure she’s looked after, respected.”
My parents just nod. I can hear their amused thoughts.
“Shhh!” I go again.
“It’s ok, she’s fine!” Again he practically shouts this. I grimace. I put down the volume in the car, accessible from my steering wheel. He catches this within time and laughs at how I put it down after he’s turned up the dial.
“How can she hear it, if I can’t?”
I scowl, turning it down again when he’s not watching.
“Maybe I’m talking too much.” He turns to my parents. “It’s the alcohol. And the coffee. I’m talking tonight for the whole week! During the week SmikG talks… I won’t talk.”
My Mum pipes up. “That’s how my husband used to be.” My Dad laughs from beside her. “He would drink and then not stop talking all night. I would go to bed and he’d still be talking! Oh, and if I upset him the slightest… I wouldn’t hear the end of it.”
They both laugh, and I smile, remembering this story I’ve already heard. It’s the first time my face has turned upwards the whole trip home.
“Respect,” Hubbie is saying again. “You have to respect women. It may not be your daughter, but it’ll be someone else’s daughter. It’s no good how there are men that don’t respect women, I don’t like that.”
Everyone nods, hoping to shut him up.
“I wish baby girl finds someone that respects her. I wish baby girl finds someone like me!”
In that moment I withhold from bursting out into laughter.
‘I don’t want her to find someone like you – someone to shit her incessantly! I don’t want her to be pissed!’
This thought makes me laugh so hard from the inside, that suddenly, despite my shitty-ness at Hubbie refusing to be quiet, refusing to keep the music down, and just repeating repeating repeating like a parrot, things are a little more lighter.
After we’ve dropped off my parents, I tell him what I thought earlier.
He smiles. “If that’s the worst baby girl has, a husband that shits her on the drive home… if that’s her only problem, I’m happy.”
Yes, his inability to listen to me, to anyone, at all, after multiple drinks of coffee and alcohol, totally fucking shits me up the wall. I freaking want to go insane.
But he’s right. It’s a pretty funny problem to have.
It’s nice to be able to find the funny-ness, amidst the frenzy.
I love my annoying Hubbie.