When Andy and I got married, there was a silent vow that I did not know I was agreeing to. Even though I never said it, it went something along the lines of: I relinquish all control over what is playing on any TV at any time. Additionally, I will happily subject myself to random channel changing and strange verbal outbursts during sporting events. Any attempt to alter this vow has been met with confused looks and flat out denial that any such vow exists.
However, when we are riding in my car, I have full authority over what radio station we listen too. Comments such as, "What is this crap?" are not appreciated and are met with a sneer and a raised eyebrow. I'm pretty much behind the curve on most new technology, so the fact that I was an early adopter of satellite radio should tell you just how passionate I am about my driving audio experiences. I do not listen to commercials. I do not listen to the band Primus. There is no debate. My car. My radio.
I do try to be understanding, and we often listen to the grunge station on Sirius because we both like a lot of that music. I'm not completely unreasonable.
The other day I was driving Michael to daycare and listening to some Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young.
"Mommy. I want to listen to Daddy music."
"What's Daddy music?" I asked.
"The music we listen to in Daddy's car." Ah, I see. Michael doesn't like my music. He would prefer to listen to the rock music that Daddy listens too.
"Fine," I responded and then flipped to the grunge station. It wasn't worth the fight.
At least he didn't ask, "What is this crap?"