They're On Their Way To Church
This past Monday, I had a doctor's appointment scheduled during the middle of the day. On my way there, despite seeing me coming on the main road, someone decided to cut me off. It was a close one; very very close. All I could instinctively think to do was beep the horn. It could've been bad. My husband on the car's bluetooth asked if I was ok and I muttered that I would be. You could tell I was angry. We could've gotten really hurt.
"What is it that you usually tell me," he said.
My husband drives for work for most of the day and sometimes he gets really bad road rage. It creeps up on him even when we're driving on the weekends. I've offered him different prespectives to try to prevent him from engaging with bad drivers. It's a clever, sympathetic way to emotionally regulate through the frustration.
"They're on their way to church," I grumbled.
Yep, that's it. I remembered my own words. I guess they really needed to make their way to church. That's why they were speeding. And I got upset because they almost prevented me from going to church too.
He joked about me making a bumper sticker that says "I'm on my way to church." I'm contemplating. If I do, it'll for sure have to go on Luna.