The Passenger Prince shooshed me today — shooshed me! — as I was driving him to work.
Me. The one who wakes up early just to be his driver.
The Passenger Prince has been medically banned from driving ever since I sent him to Costco to buy dog food, and instead, he had a seizure somewhere between the BBQ chicken and the sushi display. We often joke that he suffered from sticker shock.
Ever since that day, he’s had to give up his independence and rely on me as his personal chauffeur. The early days were rough. I was told how to drive. My music choices were critiqued. I received many complaints.
But somehow, over the past several months, the Passenger Prince has grown accustomed to his new life of luxury. He does Duolingo, takes calls, and scrolls his phone while I navigate traffic and speed bumps.
And today — in my own car — I was shooshed.
Since this shocking shooshing incident, I’m now considering a demotion for the Passenger Prince: relocating him to the backseat, where there are no seat warmers, no audio controls, and no royal privileges. The dogs, meanwhile, are up for promotion to the coveted passenger throne.
Then again… I did not marry the dogs.
So maybe his crown is safe — for now.
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