6th, 6TH, SIXTH!!!

Roger's car was a five speed.

My car is a six speed.

And in some situations, it can be a big difference.  

When riding together, we almost always rode in Roger's car.  

And almost always Roger drove.

Roger liked to drive.

I only like to drive long distances.  

I hate local driving.  

And related/unrelated, I hate driving myself everywhere now.  I just want to be driven so badly. 

In those rare occasions that Roger drove my car, it was great.

I like being a passenger in my car.

Except, we would get on the highway or a road with a speed limit of 55 mph, and someONE would forget that my car had a sixth gear.  

And most days instead of being a nice wife and gently reminding my husband that he had another gear to go, I became a protective car owner.

"Dude, sixth"

"Duuuude, sixth!!"

I would praise him if he did it without me reminding him though.  

If I was being a good nice wife, I would just gently tap his hand.  

Now when I'm on the highway and I move into sixth gear, I smile or cry.

Depends on my mood.

But I almost always think of Roger.

And the reminding of "Sixth. Dear, sixth."