“I think you have a wheel bearing going,” he says to me as we’re leaving for the wedding reception.
It’s not the first wheel bearing I’ve had go. In my GMC Jimmy, we repaired wheel bearings at least 5 times. I think we’ve already done it twice in my new Trailblazer. It’s a $600+ job, for each one.
“Great,” I say. “Just what we need, another $800 car repair bill. That is a major design flaw that Chevy has in their SUVs. How many times did we fix those in the Jimmy? I’ll tell you what, my next car will not be a Chevy.”
“Well, it won’t be some foreign piece of shit,” he says.
“I didn’t say I was buying a foreign car,” I say. “It’s just not going to be a Chevy or a Chevy product SUV because I’m sick and tired of paying thousands of dollars for what is obviously a serious design flaw in their small SUVs. And, it’s my car and my money, and I’ll buy whatever I want to.”
“Well, I’m not riding in your foreign car,” he says.
“OH MY GOD…are you even listening to me? Can you ever just agree with me? Ever? Just once? Can’t you agree that it’s bullshit that we have have to replace wheel bearings continuously. Maybe that’s why my tires are bad already, too.”
“All I’m saying is…,” he starts.
“Just forget it,” I interrupt. “Forget I said anything. This is why I don’t tell you anything because you constantly oppose me. God, who cares, anyway? Everything is groovy. Life is good. End of discussion.”
And that ends the discussion and any talk for the rest of the night. I bury my nose in the latest issue of “Sports Illustrated” and ignore him on the entire drive into the city.
He tries to hold my hand on the way in. It’s his way of making up, but I’m still pissed and I am not holding hands.
I’m sick of this. Why isn’t he ever on my side…ever? Aren’t we on the same side? Aren’t we “partners” in this life?
Are we really fighting about wheel bearings and Chevys? Not really. This fight is a continuation of an earlier fight about work and money and priorities. I was still stewing about that unresolved fight when he threw a little gas on the fire.
When we arrive at the hotel, the bridal party is waiting in the lobby to make their grand entrance. We slip by and take our seats.
I find it nearly impossible to smile or clap when the bride and groom finally enter, arm-in-arm, wide smiles on their young faces.
Welcome to Hell. Buckle up, kids, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.
Dan’s pouting. I’m stewing. The tension at the table is obvious. The wedding reception is pretty much ruined for us. All because the jackass engineers at General Motors can’t get the wheel bearings right.
About Just Write
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