Mr. Magoo on Crack

When you marry the person you love, you marry the good and the bad. You promise to honor and obey. (Traditional wedding vows were the norm when we got married, damnit.) But, nowhere did it say that I had to ride in a car with my husband.  I call my now ex, Mr. Magoo to his face, so that’s not a secret.  “Buckle Up and Close your eyes” would be an appropriate phrase.

Magoo is the worst driver in the world.  (Sorry for the exaggeration. I am sure there are worse drivers in Outer Mongolia, where ever the hell that is.)  He drives into the direction he is looking.  Sure, people need to have their eyes on the road at all times, but not Magoo. Countless times he would point and say, “Look at that, Vickie” and then drive in that direction. I would answer, “I can’t, Jay, someone has to drive..”  But, if I hadn’t screamed numerous times, I think we would have taken out countless mailboxes through the years.  He would get mad at me for making a “We are surely going to die” noise each time.  I guess he wanted me to say, “Golly gee, Jay, there is a mailbox coming into our windshield. Oh, look, the post has impaled me,”  instead of screaming. I rode with my arm holding onto the strap by the door and one foot on my imaginary brake.  He is one of those drivers who ride up to a red light and then come to a quick bumpy stop, the kind of stop that feels like the back of the car is going up into the air a few feet.  He does this, instead of slowing the acceleration and taking his foot off the gas and slowly applying the brake. (page 43)

I hated the thought of the Washington-DC beltway to get to Ocean City because Magoo loved speeding and jumping lanes without looking to see who was beside him. He had his seatbelt on, after all, and that made him invincible. I literally cried every time we went on that stupid beltway. Oh, yes, I tried to drive it, to lessen my need for a drink, but Magoo shouted out commands, “Get in the right lane. Now… Now Vickie… Vickie…Get in the right lane… Vickie….Vickie…NOW…Shit…You waited too long. You almost hit that guy. Do you want me to drive? “

Since I was the co-pilot, I decided to find a route so we wouldn’t have to go on the beltway. It was called the, “We are Now Going to Myrtle Beach” route. The first year or two we would go around Charlotte, North Carolina, which had a string of red lights and a speed limit of -25mph. He did not like this road Sam I am.  So, I found back roads that took us by South of the Border. But, Magoo could not obey speed limits. Not when he had an ocean waiting for him. When we entered the town of Latta, I told him, “You need to slow down. The speed limit is 25.” Magoo didn’t believe me. He sped up. And of course, a cop pulled us over. I think Alex started crying. But, that may have been me. I was so mad at him.   I did the quiet, “I’ll have the lobster”  and close the menu routine all week.

Magoo had a 1977 MGB that I rode in maybe 3 times. I called it the “Little Piss Ant”.   He tried to behave himself, but the top was down and now he could look straight up. He was loving a convertible.  “Maybe I will buy a motorcycle.”  “Well, you better buy more life insurance is all I can tell you,” was my rolling-pin wanna-be answer.  He couldn’t drive a motorcycle. Dear God, Magoo could wreck a stationary bike.

We are now divorced and I don’t drink so much anymore, but he invited me out on the river on his new Craig-Cat, which is like a catamaran.  Mr. Magoo on crack…on the water…Those poor kids on inner tubes…they are so dead.