This is a story that I'm not entirely sure I should tell, as it proves once and for all that my two remaining brain cells are in danger of colliding and causing an atomic reaction wherein my head will implode. However, I feel that Gabe doesn't get enough blog time, so here I go, telling it in spite of my better judgment.
Yesterday, when I picked Gabe up from school, he noticed immediately that I was wearing my seatbelt incorrectly. I had the shoulder harness tucked behind my shoulder, like I'm forever telling him not to do. Any male readers (do I HAVE any male readers?) will not be able to relate to this problem, but it goes something like this: you wear a sports bra, which causes a phenomenon I like to call "unaboob", and the seatbelt won't stay in the middle of your chest. Since I am a Pilates instructor, I spend a lot of time driving around with my seatbelt slowly attempting to decapitate me, sawing away at my neck. The last week or so, it has been particularly bad, and it was driving me crazy yesterday to the point that I tucked it behind me when I pulled off the busy street into the neighborhood. I explained to Gabe the general theory of this (minus the unaboob section of the theory) and was met with "Mama, I know why your seatbelt is cutting into your neck!" Everyone will have to forgive me for this next part, because unless you've lived with Gabe, you can't possibly know how often he knows absolutely everything, and can solve any problem. I responded sarcastically. "Is that so?" I said. "Go ahead and tell me why my seat belt is cutting into my neck!" At this point, Gabe collapsed into helpless giggles as he blurted out, "Because it isn't in that little plastic loop that's supposed to hold it!" And so it wasn't. I felt like a genius. There's a very real chance he's going to start charging me a consulting fee in the near future.