Turn Right At The Japanese Restaurant

We know we're in trouble when it takes ten minutes to get their seatbelts on, and another five to make sure they haven't left their house keys behind, and then, off we go to Anaheim Hills to pay a condolence call.  In the backseat, armed with helpful commentary:  hubby's parents and his younger bro'.  Two seconds in, the backseat driving begins.  "Get on the freeway at Wilshire," says the younger bro.'  "I know where the freeway is," says hubby.  The SJG takes the first of many power naps. 
Saturday afternoon, the freeway looks jammed.  "Where's everybody going?" my mother-in-law asks.  "They're getting out of the city," the younger bro' says, like he's got the inside track.  "Stay in the right lane," says hubby's dad, his Brooklyn accent thicker than usual.  "Take the diamond lane," says the younger bro.'  "There is no diamond lane," hubby says.  My mother-in-law stays out of the fray.  "It's so nice and cool in here."

On the radio, the Bruins are thrashing the Longhorns, a shocking turn of events.  "You can get all the way over to the right and take that extended Vermont onramp to beat the traffic," says hubby's dad.  "I'm not doing that," hubby says.  "It doesn't make any difference which lane we're in.  It's still gonna take an hour to get there."  "I would've gone a different way," says the younger bro'.   "What's the score?" asks my mother-in-law.  "UCLA's winning by a lot," says the SJG, amateur sportscaster.  "They're gonna lose," hubby's dad says, like he's got the inside track.  "Don't say that," his wife says.  "If they win, it's a big upset," hubby points out.  "It'll never happen," his dad says.  "Why do you have to be so negative?" asks my mother-in-law.  "I'm not negative, I'm realistic."

Forty-five minutes in, and it feels like a week.  "You need to get over," says hubby's dad.  "The 91's coming up in three miles."  "I've got plenty of time," hubby says.  "Not as much as you think," his dad says.  "What's the score?" asks my mother-in-law.  "We're still ahead," says the SJG.  "You gotta get over," hubby's dad urges.  I give hubby a loving, "hang in there" pat on the arm.   Two transition lanes appear.  Hubby makes his move.  Yet from the backseat, visibility remains iffy.  In unison, his parents yell, "GET OVER!"  Hubby's response, cleaned up, expletives deleted:  "Would you two relax!  Don't tell me which lane to be in.  I've done this before!" "We're just trying to help," says my mother-in-law.  I turn around and smile at my in-laws, and wonder when they got so old.  "There will be no more lane advice today," I inform them.  "What's the score?" asks hubby's mom.  "We won," I say.  "I knew we would," says my father-in-law.

The rest of the ride rolls along, blissfully and direction-free, until we get off the freeway.  "Turn right at the Japanese restaurant," hubby's dad instructs.  "Go two miles, and turn right on Scenic Drive."  "It's so pretty here," says my mother-in-law. "How long do we have to stay?" asks my brother-in-law.  "You just missed the turn!"  says hubby's dad.  "But that wasn't Scenic Drive," hubby and I say, in unison. "Well, you were supposed to turn there, anyway."