Sarah never drove without her gloves. Her naked hands against the steering wheel felt like bare feet against the gas pedal, like her body unbelted in the seat-unsafe and wrong. She deliberately left the gloves out on the table by the living room couch as she packed up her purse for dinner with Ted. "It's my birthday, so I plan on having some wine," Sarah called out to Ted in the bedroom. "Whatever you want, hon," Ted answered. "Okay, but you know you'll have to drive home this time. I don't want to have to worry about it on my birthday, Ted." "I could've done the driving last time," Ted replied as he entered the room, "but you wouldn't let me. I'm a good driver, Sarah. I know when I've had too much. I've never gotten us into trouble, have I?" Sarah didn't want to get into this argument again. She was tired of arguing, tired of monitoring Ted's drinking, tired of always doing the driving. Maybe just this once, for her birthday, Ted could refrain from overindulging and let Sarah enjoy herself. "I'll be a good boy, I promise," teased Ted. "Boy Scout's honor." Sarah laughed and kissed Ted's cheek. Then she reached back and slipped the gloves into her purse as they left the apartment.