"Stop this car right now. I'm getting out!" I shouted. My emotions were boiling and I had to escape the confines of our car. "Let me out, right here!"
The argument, like so many marital conflicts, was over something really important: potato chips. Well, not just potato chips but the process of purchasing said chips.
My wife, Kristie, and I were on our way to a Sunday school picnic, and looked forward to a day of fun with people from our church. Sunny skies, delicious barbecue, cheerful conversation, and, of course, potato chips. That was our job, to bring those blasted chips.
As we drove to the party in my wife's sporty convertible, we pulled into a small Food Mart to fulfill our assignment. She said something about what to purchase, and I nodded.
I don't remember what she said. That's because I didn't listen. I'm a grown man; I think I can handle picking out potato chips.
I returned to the car, threw the bag in the back, and hopped in, ready to enjoy the lovely day, when my wife asked, "What kind of chips did you get?"
"Did you buy the chips I asked you to get?"
"You told me to get a certain kind?"
"You never listen to me!" she said.
"Who cares what kind of chips I got? They're chips! I think I'm capable of buying potato chips," I said, sure this defense would win the argument.
She pressed the issue.
And that's when I made an executive decision: "Let me out right here!"
"No problem!" She slammed on the brakes.1