Like a bad country song, except not country

So.

Hello.

We spent 20 hours in the car with little people this weekend.

20.

Yes ma'am.

At about hour 16, Art and I had a little growth opportunity. You know one of those where who is more selfish than who is discussed. Oh yes, one of those.

Every talk I've ever given on marriage was coming back to me in a point by point flood. At that moment, I didn't like my little advice giving self.

I just wanted to be mad.

I just wanted to pout.

I just wanted to be selfish.

And then this came on the radio:



Y'all I had to turn my mad little face, towards my window and laugh.

I kept looking around for the Smile, You're on Candid Camera sign.

Instead I just chuckled at the number of BBQ places we kept passing with names like "Action Jackson's Kickin' BBQ" and "Po Boys Ribs."

Then I pulled down my visor mirror and remembered the goodness of the times when I teased my bangs up big and sprayed the sides of my hair out away from my ears like wings.

I grieved the loss of the world's finest hair do as I rocked back and forth to Chicago.

And then, I said I was sorry. Even though it's hard for me to say I'm sorry.