I couldn't believe that he wanted to drive in the rain with the windows down. It was silly, and he was doing it on principle, like people who only use a French press or like my friend at work who only writes with a monogrammed pen. Your leather seats are getting wet, I said. They're getting ruined. I emphasized ruined because I wanted him to know how he made me feel.
He ignored me and continued on with his lecture. If you believe everything that literature tells you to believe, then we have a problem, he said.
I stared outside and felt the rain on my left eyebrow and on my upper lip and in between my eyelashes. In that case, I said slowly as I rolled up my window, I guess we have a problem.