I admit that I’m spoiled when it comes to transportation.
I am pretty sure that since I started dating Drew, I haven’t touched a car door handle. Doors just seem to open, magically, for me. I am whisked all over in his hybrid car with the freedom to play on my phone, check my email and text to my heart’s content. Since I’m the passenger, I also get to pick the radio station. (Those are the rules.) That means the station is planted firmly on satellite radio’s ’90s station, always. I hear The Cranberries more now than I did during the entire decade they were popular.
On long car trips, my bare feet are planted on the dashboard, novel or a heated game of Angry Birds in hand. Either that, or I’m snoring. On nearly every car trip we’ve taken, Drew has done the bulk of the driving because I sleep as soon as the car is in motion. In fact, when I was a child, all my parents needed to do was drive me around the block and I was in a tiny, baby coma.
I can fall asleep on the drive to the grocery store. I have slept though take-offs and landings on a plane and woken up with a river of drool on my chin. It is no wonder that every time I pass out on a long trip, Drew seizes the opportunity to snap a picture and post it on Instagram. (He’s allowed. Those are the rules.)
When traveling with Drew via airplane, my spoiled-ness reaches new heights. Neither of us are tiny people by any stretch, but since I sleep on airplanes and Drew does not, I get the window seat. Every time. And every time, Drew wedges himself in the middle seat between his sleeping, drooling fiance and some rancher from El Paso, Texas, in a cowboy hat. (Howdy, sir. I’ll be resting the entire right side of my body next to yours for the following three hours.)
The roles were reversed on our recent trip to Pennsylvania to attend a bridal shower with all my cousins and aunts and fabulous women who have known me since I was small.
Drew, who works in social media marketing, did not have the day off. That meant he would work, on his iPad, from the passenger seat of the car for the entire eight-hour trip. That also meant that my naps would be shortened from a unit of measure such as “the entire length of the state of Ohio” to something more like “the entire length of the blink of one eye.”
I was bored by the time we hit Fort Wayne. And then the complaining started:
“This road is all I remember since the beginning of time.” “My bottom hurts.” “I want to play Angry Birds.” “There’s nothing good on the ’90s station!”
Drew looked at me and said sweetly, “Now you know what I go through.” And then he promptly turned the radio station to sports talk radio. (Those are the rules.)
After we got there, I realized I learned two key things from this trip:
1) An unending appreciation for how much Drew does for me when we go on vacation. I am so fortunate.
2) We have a new rule — We will now only travel on weekends and holidays, and when Drew has the day off.
— Erin Shultz