We've all been there -- the road trip is a huge test of relationships. There's nothing like being locked in a car for hours wondering when the polite time to nap is. This nap window gets larger the longer you're together, it's a reward for time served. When Boyfriend and I went on our first road trip, I didn't nap at all. However, he learned road trip rule number one: Always stop for food. Always. No matter how short the trip.
Everybody is familiar with this rule, you leave the house, you stock up on junk food and drinks to tide you over. SIMPLEST RULE EVER! Maybe this is a western Canadian thing, but wake up eastern Canada (especially Boyfriend's hometown), a girl has got to eat. Maybe that's just me. I'm the kind of girl other girls hate because I fill my body with junk, don't exercise and still remain skinny. My sincerest apologies, but I agree, by all rights I should be fat. Moving on, back to where I intended to start: our first road trip. Boyfriend and I packed up the car and the dog (for those wondering the breed, he's half chihuahua, half ugly, but he's so gross he's adorable...to clarify, I'm talking about the dog, not Boyfriend) and started on our way. As we're leaving town we pass the Tim Hortons, gas stations, convenience stores...they all go in and out of my line of vision and we stop at NONE of them. Was this something that needed to be discussed before we left the apartment? Doesn't everyone know proper road trip etiquette? The answer is no. Perhaps it's because he doesn't eat as often as I do, he's more of a small meal around lunch, gigantic dinner at night kind of guy. Me, I'm a nibbler. I eat often. I have to say something.
Aren't we going to stop and grab coffee or something?
You didn't have anything before we left the house?
No, I figured we would eat in the car.
I was hoping to just drive though.
Of course you were, because four hours in the car without anything to eat is no problem at all...for you.
And then ladies, comes the part that I'm not proud of, the part built into my DNA. That passive aggressive solution to everything that goes wrong in a relationship, the part that demands that he's punished for something that he doesn't recognize is a problem. Yes, I employ the silent treatment. It's not pretty. I know it's wrong and I know it's better to talk like adults about this very minor issue, but I don't believe in taking the high road. My technique is to accompany the silent treatment with scowls and looks of derision, and if there's opportunity to break the mutism, I spit out a snarky comment that I hope makes him feel bad. This isn't even when I'm pmsing, that's probably four thousand times worse. How does he put up with me? He lasts about forty minutes, which I think is pretty impressive but at the same time I'm angry that he doesn't just cave in. Any longer and the She-Hulk would have been in control. If you don't feed me I get angry (which on a side note he has learned, and now his love language is to buy me treats to stop the anger before it erupts... good Boyfriend), and from what I hear from those that have been on the receiving end, it can be pretty intolerable. Finally, he concedes and pulls into the parking lot of a Subway. Thank freaking god. In hindsight, I think he might of stopped just to keep me occupied while I ate instead of trying to slay him with murderous stares. Lesson learned, and rule number one has been employed ever since in our road trips. If I haven't said it, sorry Boyfriend.
Road trip rule number two: Take turns with picking the music.
I've been brainwashed and have gradually come around to a limited selection of Kenny Chesney songs. It took awhile, but I will put up with listening to it, but I can't take any more Neil Young. How many CDs does that guy have? Not saying he's not good, but so many hours of Crazy Horse, so many. On the other hand, Boyfriend probably doesn't appreciate the Red Hot Chili Peppers as much as I do. In spite of the unspoken rule that the driver gets to choose the music, I resist it. It's not fair to me if I'm conscious. I want a turn to choose the music damn it. Punishment: SILENT TREATMENT.
Road trip rule number three: When a woman has to pee, you find a freaking bathroom.
This rule was recently added to the list over the last couple months based on a single incident, though stopping to pee is generally a good rule of thumb. Although Muse (the bestie) gets a nervous pee feeling sometimes and I still don't know if it's good or bad to have it, until proven otherwise we'll say it's a good thing so try to withstand voiding your bladder to prolong it. This might be bad advice.
How the new rule came into play: we had stopped for beverages and snacks (Good Boyfriend) and I fell asleep in the car maybe ten minutes after we left the store. The napping window has increased to accommodate us both. I get to sleep the trip away and he and Neil Young get to bond. I woke up about an hour later and on the outskirts of another town. As I rouse from sleep I make the declaration:
I simply must pee (it probably didn't come out so eloquently, but for the sake of the story this is what I said).
I was hoping to get a little further before we stopped.
Well I have made the declaration, so we're stopping for a couple minutes at the Visitor's Centre coming up so the rest of the drive will be pleasant...for you.
That in itself is the best reason to stop, so he pulls into the turning lane a couple minutes later to make a left into the parking lot from the highway. Of course, it has to be Sunday and after six, and as Boyfriend starts to turn I see the sign that says WASHROOMS CLOSED. I point and scream the two words that make a mockery of my full bladder, and Boyfriend swerves right, back onto the highway before we make the full turn. No matter, we'll just take a few more minutes going into town... only, why aren't we getting off the highway? The town is back there. Washrooms closed does not make the fact that I have to pee go away. I'm no doctor, but I know for certain that the female body does not work like that.
There's a truck stop just up the road here, we'll stop there.
WHAT? You've got to be kidding me, we could have stopped right there in town!
I feel the She-Hulk building inside of me.
How far up the road?
Not far.
No Boyfriend, how far in minutes, give me a time frame.
Ten?
Okay, I guess I can last for ten. I think. The more I think about it, the more I feel like I'm not going to make it. I'm going to pee my pants in the car you borrowed from a friend. He won't like me anymore.
Boyfriend feels the tension building, I know he does.
We can stop and you can go on the side of the road.
I'm not peeing on the side of the road, just drive fast, and in the meantime, SILENT TREATMENT.
I scowl as I do, cross my arms to let the body language tell him that I'm pissed (in an angry way, not in the urination way... yet) and I watch the digital numbers on the clock. I watch the little numbers change ten times and then burst out.
Well??? Where is this rest stop?
I'm sorry, I thought it was around here. It'll be down here somewhere.
Though he's genuine with his apology it is disregarded, the anger doesn't care and she spits out her response:
That will just have to do, won't it?
I stare out the window, fuming. I don't know when the music stopped. I don't know if I heard it at all since I woke up, but the silence weighs heavy on both of us. More minutes tick by, and Boyfriend, for lack of anything better to do to remedy the situation reaches for the CD case and pulls out a random burnt CD that I don't think I've seen before. This CD will be forever known as the CD that diffuses an angry girlfriend. He puts the CD in, and of all things to start playing, the bloody Beach Boys belt out their happy harmonies. Christ, there is NO WAY on this green earth to be full of rage and listen to the Beach Boys. I think it's scientifically proven. I feel my shoulders loosen, and now I'm trying really hard to hold onto my anger, but the urge to sing along is overpowering. It's not fair. I mean really, why do they have to be so delightful? Now I stare even harder out the window so he doesn't see that my madness has evaporated. I'm just pretending to be angry to make a point. I'm such a woman. I almost forget that I have to pee, until we turn off to follow signs to the rest stop. I think the Beach Boys saved our relationship that day. The problem is, now he knows, he's found the cryptonite that will stop the she beast from attacking him. Crap.
There you have it. The three golden rules of road tripping with a woman. Fellas, don't forget to pack the Beach Boys in your survival kit, they could save your life one day.
Time for tea,
K
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