It’s been OK except for two things. He likes to have the air conditioner cranked up to walk-in-freezer level, and I can do very well with just a fan blowing. So when he comes in the house, he immediately turns the air down to 68. As soon as he leaves, I immediately turn it back up to 77. Maybe he should pay the bill when it comes in; that’ll stop his trigger-happy fingers.
The other thing is that he can’t drive for a few weeks because, unbeknownst to us, his license has been suspended. We wracked our brains trying to find out why his license had been suspended; I even pulled his driving record from the MVB in Frankfort but it was clean. Apparently if you don’t change the address on your license within 10 days of moving, your license can be suspended and you have to go to traffic school. (I think it’s a rip-off, myself.) So until he gets that taken care of, I have to drive him to work and the gym and other places. I tell myself it won’t be for long. But I thought I had hung up my chauffeur’s hat for good.
For the most part, we get along. We just do our different things. He likes watching sports and shows like Family Guy and Megan Wants a Millionaire, both of which I can only take in small doses. I don’t watch much television at all. And talk about your backseat driver! He makes me nervous when we’re in the car together because he’s so critical of my driving. I hope the next place I get to taxi him to will be traffic school, and then back to the driver’s license office so he can get reinstated and I – both of us – can have our freedom back.