When Quirky Becomes Irritating

I've realized that there are certain qualities that, endearing when you're "dating" quickly become aggravating once you're married. No, I'm not even referring to toilet seats or towel folding. In the case of RP/KR, one of those (glaring) characteristics would be my driving.

Sure, I get by - after all, I commute a good 40 miles each way for work and seem to get myself home in one piece. But when I fall off the wagon, I fall hard.

For example, I'd never had a car accident until 2008. Oh sure, I'd ran into fences, poles and once, my sister's van. But in the months spanning Feb 2008 - Feb 2009, I was in not one, not two, but THREE accidents, one of which sent me into a freeway median going 70 mph.

Well, that was long before I met RP and enough time had lapsed that I could laugh about it. I still ran into a parking garage wall or a high curb here and there, but RP would usually smile and say "My girlfriend has a hard time with driving," followed by an affectionate chuckle.

Oh, how marriage changes things.

You could say I fell off the wagon back in December, when I received a $500 red-light camera ticket and a $160 cell phone ticket in the course of two weeks. But, having paid my tickets and even attended traffic school, I thought I was in the clear. That is, until on Friday, I went to the DMV to officially change my last name (like the good little wife I am), and was told they could do nothing until I paid my outstanding traffic ticket.

All the "I don't have an unpaid ticket!" pleadings in the world didn't sway the DMV mistress, so I left with a notice in my hand and a number for the North San Diego Traffic Court. That was when, to my great disdain, I found that another camera had caught me in February, and not only had I never received the ticket in the mail, but I had now unwittingly failed to appear in court and currently faced a $795 fine.

That's when my driving record became not so endearing.

In the wake of my upset, RP texted me for my driver's license number so he could shop out insurance. That's when I told him the news - via the soft anonymity of text messaging. There was no chuckle, no smile, no endearment to speak of. He returned with a mere,

"Freak."

And that's when the "my girlfriend is a bad driver" honeymoon ended.

Thank you, red-light cameras of San Diego.