He drives me to work and picks me up every day. The mornings are often silent journeys. If the truth were told, I’d say I’m still not over my jealousy that he is retired and I am not. I suspect he knows this which is why he drives me to work so I don’t have to take the bus, an activity guaranteed to strobe the jealousy chartreuse.
Last week he had two obsessions. The morning:
“Look at that car. The winter tires have four bolts.”
Silence for a few hundred metres.
“That one has five.”
“Bolts. Five bolts.”
“Isn’t there a standard? What if the wheels fall off?”
The evening obsession is not so easily summarized but let’s call it the Trump Watch Tower in which I am brought up to date on the daily donnybrooks.
It seems the day ends almost as it began with concerns over loose bolts and wobbly wheels and a need for standards.