Driving to Ottawa
Rachelle has horrible taste in music.
It’s the sort of stuff you’d imagine that a relatively unpopular 13 year-old girl living in 1994 might like.
Blue Rodeo are so dreamy!!
The Dixie Chicks are so smart and courageous!!
Pearl Jam is so edgy!!
The soundtrack to Dirty Dancing RAWKS!
No matter, as I am generous and full of love, I always let Rachelle control the music when we’re in the car. And so, when we were driving back to Toronto after spending Thanksgiving in Ottawa, I suffered. Through a fog of grating static, Rachelle constantly fiddled with the tuner, happily landing on every craphole radio station in Southern Ontario. It was painful, especially when Rachelle, having found some Christian Country song she liked, began, out of key and unlike an angel, to sing/lecture at me:
“You’ve got to be your own man and not a puppet on a string
You’ve got to stand for something or you’ll fall for anything.”
Occasionally she’d poke me in the chest, underscoring how disappointed she was (still) in me after I backed down from a fight at our last floor hockey game. (Long story, suffice it to say that I didn’t want to hurt the chick, who thought she was some sort of floor hockey deity simply because she was a lesbian.)
Instead of allowing Rachelle to provoke me, I decided to give her the gift of education and told her at some length why her musical taste sucked and why my musical taste was awesome. After digesting my wisdom for an hour or so, Rachelle stopped at Starbucks, (making me stay in the car to make sure that our luggage wasn’t stolen) slammed the door and went inside to get a cookie.
It was at this point, having found a station that played nothing but The Blues, that I seized control of the music.
(Rachelle enters the car.)
Me: “Now this is some music!”
Rachelle: “ Why does it smell funny in here? You farted, didn’t you? You waited until I left and then you stunk-up the car!”
Me: “ Doggie smells her own doo.”
Rachelle: (Sigh)
Me: (Bopping my head and playing air guitar) “Yeah, The Blues are the perfect soundtrack for road trips! Make me feel like I’m in a movie, a gritty movie!
Rachelle: (opening all the windows and fanning her hand) “Oh, you must tell me about this movie.”
Me: “What do you mean?”
Rachelle: “Is your gritty road movie about a grown-man who doesn’t know how to drive? A man who forces his girlfriend to do all the driving because he never got his driver’s license on account of his phobia about hitting a squirrel?”
Me: “You eat too much chocolate.”
Rachelle: “And the star of this movie, he’s returning from his parent’s house, yes? With a Miniature Dachshund wearing a pink collar on his lap? Hmm, I wonder who should play this rough character?”
Me: “Your dad told me that you smelled funny as a baby and that they thought something was wrong with you.”
Rachelle: “ Remember that cute little piglet that played Babe. I think he’d be perfect in this role.”
Me: “You know what you are? You’re the coldest night of the year. That’s you—Rachelle-The Coldest Night of the Year—Maynard.
I then secured my traveler’s pillow around my neck and pretended to go to sleep, while Rachelle changed the radio station and resumed tailgating the car in front of us.
