Just Listen to Me

As my husband's cousin Carol, who lives in Tucson, was telling him to make a U-turn, I found myself saying, "No, just keep going and turn right on 6th Street." My daughter was mortified, saying, "But Mom, she LIVES here. Dad should just listen to her."

You see I had gotten tipped off earlier in the day when we spent 15 minutes snaking up the wrong mountain that Carol's forte was NOT getting around in her own hometown. When we had come out 2 years ago, I had learned my way around, poking into more used furniture stores than I could ever count.

This bossy "I must be right attitude" is not a new thing for me. I remember in the 5th grade arguing with a girl named Janet about the pronunciation of Sault Sainte Marie, a place where she had actually lived, declaring that Sault could definitely not be pronounced "SOO". I came to learn that not everything sounds like it looks.

In the 7th grade there was another argument about pronunciation, this time with a substitute teacher. The word was Bogota. It just didn't seem right that the accent could go on the last syllable. Once again, I was full of SHIT!

Today, however, I was right. Still, I hate the idea of seeming to be such a know-it-all. Why couldn't I just sit back and let us get lost, hiding the fact that I really knew the way home?