To preface this story, I almost never wear sunglasses – they’re oppressive, like socks. But I bought a blingy diva pair anyway, for a 14-hour Texas trip, and I tucked them away in my purse.
A few hours into the drive, somewhere around west Memphis, Kevin wanted to stretch out a bit. He started rearranging all the bags and snacks and speakers and road trip stuff in an attempt to build his nest.
“Hey, before you get too comfortable,” I said, “we’re about to head west so I’m going to need my glasses out of my purse.”
“Huh?” he responded eloquently.
I repeated myself, speaking slowly this time, “We’re…about…to…head…west…so… I’m…going…to…need…my…glasses…out…of…my…purse.”
“WHY do you need your glasses when we turn west????” he quizzed with a look of irritation.
“Well, Kevin, let’s use our brain and find the answer to that question. Why do YOU think I need my glasses?”
“I dunno.”
“What happens when we turn westward?”
“Um…the letters on the signs get smaller???”
What we’ve got here is failure to communicate.
Let’s try this again. “Kev, before you get too comfortable, we’re about to head west so I’m going to need my SUNglasses out of my purse, not my EYEglasses.”
she said 