My doctor gave me some very bad news. I can’t even bring myself to talk about it. I’m so scared right now. I don’t know why God is doing all this to me. I am so angry with God right now. I hate God.
About 300 years ago, my wife and I were newlyweds, riding in the passenger seat of our crappy ‘88 Nissan Altima. My wife was driving.
My wife always drives. I’m pretty sure this was written in our wedding vows somewhere.
We were on our way home from Walmart, after buying groceries. And we were having an intense argument.
As newlyweds, we didn’t have much money. So buying groceries was a tedious ordeal for us. We would wander aisles, meticulously counting pennies, painstakingly deciding which products to forego, and which items were necessary for the success of our marriage.
On this particular shopping trip I was heavily in favor of buying a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon for our marriage.
My wife, however, said it would be
a cold day in Hades before we wasted hard-earned cash on beer. She wanted instead to buy scented candles that were roughly the size of municipal fire hydrants which made our apartment smell like a brothel.
We got into an argument right in the middle of the store. It was the nuclear explosion of arguments. The kind of newlywed argument that lasted throughout the checkout line, the parking lot, and on the ride home.
So there we were, in the car. On the highway. We got so mad at each other that at some point my wife stopped the car and kicked me out onto the desolate two-lane road.
I was certain she was only trying to make her point. She wouldn’t actually leave me here on an empty highway, would she?
Yes, she would.
She slammed the door, stamped on the gas,…