Friday, was my mother’s birthday, and Mary Dawn’s too by the way, I’m going to be writing your post mum, are you watching? Today however, I need to explain something terrible. Something awful, something so bad and wrong that I really, really thought I might just die.
It had been a good day, it really had, I had a good day at work, it’s the start of a long weekend, and I had asked my boss if I needed to work on Wednesday since Monday is a holiday. “Oh no..” she says, “you’re entitled to your public holidays!” And I am all “are you -sure-?” And she is all “yes, of course! See you next Thursday!” And so I am going home with way too much excitement than I should ever have. I drove that day, because, I was late. I am sleeping like the dead these days, and I cannot tell you how wonderful that is. I don’t wake up! I don’t wake Ollie up, in fact, poor abused Oliver, who is used to me for years and years making hideous whiny noises and elbowing him every time he dared.to.breathe, wakes himself up now. I am positive, he is terrified I’m dead next to him. He has programmed himself to wake up in a fit of terror because all the uninterrupted sleep seems completely unnatural to him.
Anyway, I am sleeping like the dead you see, so I wake up late, which makes me late for everything. Yes, I know, you’re surprised and amazed. Me? Late for everything? That’s totally unheard of right? Shutup. I’m later now, because I wake up slowly and I’m all fuzzy with all this sleep and I really don’t know what to do with myself, I’m all sleeped out and groggy and it’s INSANE! So, I drove to work.
I plug in my iPod and I’m rocking out on the way home, and everything is sweet. It’s sunny, I’m driving which means, no idiots on the bus to bring me down, and life is good. I am off for FIVE days. Sure, I only work three, but you know, any day you don’t have to file is a good day, and five in a row? God, that’s seriously “I just died and went to heaven” material.
I made it all the way home, and I’m pulling into the driveway, which I have done for, oh, almost a whole year now, and I’m looking down the street and there are my darling angels. So I stop there, and wait for them to see me, and we are frantically waving at each other and I drive on in….
At least…that’s what I attempt to do.
Instead, what actually happens is, this godawful noise that tears me out of my reverie of “I’m sleeping like the dead and it makes me feel so alive that I am joyous” and suddenly, I am terrified and going “WTF IS THAT? I BETTER KEEP DRIVING AND IT WILL STOP HAPPENING!!! OHMYGOD DID I RUN OVER A CAT?” What?! A cat? Internet, seriously, do dying cats sound anything like the graunching of metal sliding down a gatepost?
Okay, so -maybe- they do, just a little. But the fact is, the car slowed down, and I sped up to compensate and the noise was HORRIFIC! And then it was over. And I am thinking…”I win! You’ve lost! I win!” And I am driving down the driveway going “ohmygod, ohmygod, that can’t be good.” Yes, outloud. Because, yes, in times of dire stress, and occassionally just boredom, I talk to myself.
I’m stressing now you realise. Really stressing. And I pull into the garage and I’m sitting there thinking that, I’m really going to have to get out and, you know…survey the damage…and..I just cannot bring myself to do it…but I get out, and I am wringing my hands and panicking, and my poor hands are all shaking with the terror, but you know, it can’t be -that- bad right? I mean, it’s just a dent.
Yeah right. I’m walking around to the passengers side of the car, and it’s all slow motion like it is in the movies, and I’m holding my breath and then, I kind of stand there, dumbfounded for a moment, holding my breath and turning purple. Because, you know what? It wasn’t just a dent..oh no, no. I was most certainly not that lucky at all. No, this, internet…is THE DENT FROM HELL! It runs down the entire door of the car, and finishes, just in front of the back wheel, in a..ohgod….I am having chest pains! HOLE!
I TORE A HOLE IN THE CAR! A HOLE! A GREAT GAPING WOUND!!!! It was almost bleeding, I swear. Car blood and tears. Somehow, I manage to find the will to exhale, and it is in many, many oh.my.gods. I am terrified. TERRIFIED! I mean, I accidently did this tiny little dent in the car once before, and most of it was like, the rubber stuff from bumper bars that like, rubbed off…and Ollie almost dropped to the ground wailing and thrashing like I’d stolen his lollypop. How, -how- am I going to tell him about this? Well, I must soften the blow, right? So, I send him an email that goes something like this:
Oh my god, you’re going to be so mad at me!!!!!!!!!
I misjudged our driveway entrance and that gate thing hit the side of the car..it’s pretty bad. No, it’s bad. Like..horribly bad.
That’s right. IT hit ME. I mean, how could -I- hit it? Right? Lay the blame on the stationary gate thing. That’s me. Nothing is ever my fault you see. His response, however, isn’t quite what I’d hoped for. He just says: GRRRRRR!!!!!
Which is when, I almost do a bit of wee in my knickers and weep, tragically to anyone and everyone who will listen to me online. – Thanks, by the way, your advice? Killer.
Anyway, he comes home. He is riding his bike, I see him and thrust myself at the sliding doors, shrieking and whimpering and the girls are going “What did you do!! What’s wrong!! What happened?” And I am staring at him and he is shaking his head, solemnly, and I know, I just -know- that I’m dead. Dead. I’ve already left my goodbyes on Facebook, and I’m bemoaning the tragedy of not having blogged to tell you all of my impending murder and he…disappears into the garage.
He’s gone for ages internet. AGES. Although, I think, time may have just gone movie theatre slowmotion again, and I am waiting, waiting, hands pressed against the glass doors..reading myself the last rights in my head, when he finally comes out and…
He is laughing.
My husband, who shrieked and moaned and fell about at one tiny dent, is laughing. And this, shocks and frightens me even more. Because, laughing? Really? He’s obviously in shock right? He’s going to do that awful serial killer laughing as he chokes me to death with my own pantyhose thing. I just -know- it. I’m not even going to get a chance to plead my case and offer sexual favours.
He comes inside and I’m wringing my hands together and he goes “well, at least you stopped before the end.” And I am sort of stunned. He’s laughing and I’m all cautiously saying “aren’t you mad at me?” And in that awful resigned voice of his, the one he saves for when I’m a complete tragedy, he says “what’s the point? Will it fix it?” And he…he….he hugs me.
Of course, afterwards, after the knowing looks and the fathering tut tutting, and the HUGE relief I have because, my husband is so much better than any of yours, I’m sorry, but it’s so true!! Every time I look like I might be about to disagree with him, I get the “Oh, you don’t even GET to do that with me now..” and I am meek and placating and he is all “I am so the man.” He did say “well, how are you going to pay for that?” And also…”No point fixing it..because, you’ll only DO IT AGAIN!”
I really wish I could say he was wrong. *weeps* Behold…
Oh, look. That’s the colour of our gate. I mean, even if I had whiteout? How could I have hidden that? Here is my sage advice to you. As much as going forward sounds like a good plan? Apparently, when the car starts making deafening metallic screaming noises at you and resists your efforts to put your foot down on the accelerator, it’s time to listen to the car, and say no to your desire to flee from the scene of the terrifying noise and the crime. Just stop. It’s apparently quite easy. In fact, in an automatic car like this one? The brake pedal is twice the size of the accelerator pedal. Oh, the shame.