Two summers ago when Dad and I set off for 3000 miles in his suburban, I worried that it would be like pitting two angry dogs against each other, in a tiny ring, to fight to the death. I was pleasantly surprised that we only had one small tiff in Canada over driving tunes. Outside of that secluded incident (due to having almost no taste at all in music and the insistence in his never failing rightness) the trip was great. So when he asked about Savannah and Charleston this summer, I agreed.
It has been trying, to say the least. I found that today flowed much more smoothly after my mint julep at lunch...and then again after my early evening glass of pinot grigio. At some point, on this great disaster of a southern journey, I hope that he finds something other than my grades to be proud of or to agree with or to simply just accept.
Tomorrow we see Charleston.