Barrel roll
We were driving down the main highway in my home town. It was under construction, and the lane in which we were to drive seemed to be too narrow to drive. So I straddled the finished part of the lane on the left and the unfinished on the right.
My wife, in whose car we were driving, asked why I was driving like that.
“Because, the lane isn’t wide enough,” I explained.
She watched the orange traffic barrels whizzing past her window for a moment, then looked ahead.
Calmly, she said, “You’re going to hit the barrel.”
“I’m not gonna hit the barrel.”
She repeated with firmness, “You’re going to hit the barrel.”
“I’m not gonna hit the barrel.” I replied. I hate it when she offers driving suggestions. I know how to drive. I’ve had a driver’s license as many years as I have not.
With some concern she reiterated: “You’re going to hit the barrel.”
I was mad. I gritted my teeth.
“I’m NOT going…”
THUD!
…
I looked over and saw the passenger side mirror folded flat against the car. I could clearly read the message about objects being closer than they appear.
…
“I guess I hit the barrel.”