This really happened.
This past Friday, I drove myself to work. It is a rarity considering K and I work at the same place and he almost always drives the car. The day went past and it was time for me to leave. Remembering to check with K on directions to another place I wanted to go from work before I went home, I picked up the keys and my purse remembering I needed them even if my bag was in the trunk.
Opening the door to the outside, I felt a moment of happiness. It was one of those days when it is bright and windy and you smell freedom the minute you step out of work. Plus, it was a Friday. What more did I need? I walked jauntily to the car, dumped my bag and lunch box in the trunk, checked if I had the phone with me and walked over to the door and let myself in. I settled myself comfortably tightened my seat belt and sat.
Thirty seconds later, I realized what was wrong. Horror of horrors, I was in the passenger seat. I felt embarrassed and quickly checked to see if anyone was watching. Face red with shame, I hurried to the driver’s seat and then drove away.
All that evening, this was all I could think of. I have become so accustomed to being driven around that on the rare occasion that I do have to drive myself I plonk myself on the passenger side by habit. What horrified me was not just this instance. It seemed representative of all else in my life.
I have gladly handed over everything that I used to do as a spinster to the capable hands of K. I am so used to him taking care of bills, documenting and filing papers and just about everything around the house. I live my life on autopilot. Everything takes care of itself.
Friday was an awakening. I hope I remember the scare.