It was just a little gnaw. And I dismissed it. It gnawed when we were 20kms outside of Merritt, a small town set in the beautiful Nicola Valley. M and I were on our way to join Jean and Ron for a weekend of camping at Monck Provincial Park, just north of Merritt, 3.5 hours drive from Vancouver. As we descended the mountain pass, the town nestled below us, I said to M, "Tell me where I must turn after we pass Merritt."I am a better navigator and M is far better at keeping his cool when driving in an unknown area. The gnaw alerted me to the realisation that I would be driving and M navigating when we needed to turn off the highway, our roles reversed. But we had been to this park before, probably four or five years earlier, so it wasn't totally new territory.
With Merritt whizzing past us on the left, I knew there was a turn we needed to take coming up but couldn't remember how soon after Merritt it was. Again I asked M to tell me where to turn.
"Just keep going," he said.
"But we have to turn somewhere. Tell me where to turn."
M hesitated and said cryptically, "5A - just keep going."
I struggled to keep my voice neutral.
"Michiel, where must I turn? Tell me where to turn!"
Which part didn't he understand?
"I'll tell you after we get past this bend," he responded.
There was an exit from the highway just past the bend.
"Don't we have to go off here?" I asked with mounting frustration.
M hesitated again. It was too late. I couldn't make the exit without some dangerous driving. We whizzed past. It would've been easy if there was another exit just a few kilometres along, but we were already starting to climb the next mountain pass. I knew there wouldn't be another one for kilometres.
"I did a better job in France with a high-level map than you've done in Merritt with directions," I said bitingly. I was furious.
"It's not a big deal," M responded. It was a big deal to me and now he knew it. My knuckles tightened over the wheel and my brow set into a deep scowl. I floored it up the hill.
"Brenda, pull over I'll drive! Pull over!"
"No, I don't want to! Just find somewhere we can turn around."
Happy Holidays Honey! Not only were we going to be late and drive who knows how far before we could turn around but, now, with my set scowl and jaw, I was getting some serious wrinkles and lines on my face. So much for trying to avoid lines around the eyes!
It was 30kms before an obscure country off-ramp afforded us the opportunity to turn around. After M's second more polite request, I pulled over and let him drive. On our return journey I took a couple of deep breaths and exercised my facial muscles to release some of the tension. I knew I had over-reacted - a little.
I turned down the music and apologised.
"I'm sorry I got so bent out of shape."
"You're easily angered today," he replied and turned up the music.
Admittedly, it was a valid comment. Was the apology accepted? I wasn't too sure.
We found our way in stilted silence and without anymore fanfare. We apologised to Ron and Jean for being a little late because "we missed the turn at Merritt."
Ron graciously conceded, "I've done that before. It's not a big deal."
"That's what I said," M chimed.
"Except that his wife was driving," I explained, "and for her it was a big deal."
"Ah, you were navigating," Ron looked at M, "so it was your fault."
"That's what I said," I smiled.
Apology accepted.
