Yesterday Husband was sick, like man sick sick. Like so sick he sounds like an elephant when he sneezes. So sick he put himself to bed at 7:30pm sitting upright so he could breathe. So sick, I actually contemplated sleeping on the couch so I didn’t have to hear that wheezing, hacking, snort that’s passing for his breathing. Man flu sick. Because he was so sick, I got to drop his car off at the dealer for a service. In exchange they gave me a MASSIVE Yukon houseboat car thing. I needed a ladder to climb into this car. I'm 5’7”. I shouldn't need a ladder to climb into a car. No one should need a ladder to climb into a car. If you need a ladder, it’s a house. I drive a Smart car. It's tiny. It has two seats and a teeny tiny backend and honk that sounds like a clown car. I can reach across and open the passage window without stretching. When I drive it feels like an extension of my body because it’s so small. It handles curves like a dream and, when it feels like it, it can race a Porsche car and almost win. And I can park my Smart car anywhere. Those compact spots made impossible by land yachts and bad parking are just made for me and Smart. I can squeeze our little self in, park and still be able to open the doors and get out without once wishing I was skinnier. This car they gave me as a loaner was so big I could fit three of my cars inside. Three. Inside the car. If the dealer wanted to make money they should have put a video camera in their parking lot and just filmed me and the massive boat like car trying negotiate around the all fancy Jaguars and Range Rovers and shiny cars that I know are worth more than small houses. I think it took me a sixteen-point turn to get it out of the parking lot. All of the salesman had their faces planted up against the window. They had nothing better to do. No one buys fancy cars at 9am in the morning. So, there they were, witness to my sixteen-point turn as I alternated between reverse and drive while cussing and laughing and crying. I’m pretty sure they were taking pictures and pointing. Okay, they probably weren’t really doing that but I couldn’t see from my perch on the mountain that was the car that I was driving. I took the route home that had the least amount of turns and twists and small children. I think I made it here without crushing anything but I doubt I would have noticed. When I got home, I took a picture of the small building on wheels that was the loaner with my Smart. Proof I wasn’t exaggerating. I wasn’t. See - Husband dragged himself off his sick bed to see the car. He was very snarky about their loaner vehicle choice. It is likely that, because he has a bad case of the man flu, he would have been snarky about anything but he was for sure not very commentary about my house on wheels. I think the nicest thing he said was that the steering wheel was slightly off center. He wouldn’t even let me park in the garage. Not that it was likely to have fit but he was not having that thing inside where it might contaminate his baby.
This small island on wheels is mine for another day because Husband’s car is still not ready. It’s pretty much guaranteed that I’m not going anywhere. I have a murder mystery I haven’t read and it’s too wet to garden. Nothing says ‘silver lining’ like I’m too scared to drive because I might drive over everything so I’ll just stay home and read. Now if only Husband and his man flu wasn’t here making all those dying noises and generally polluting the air with his germs…
2 Comments
bc
8/19/2014 02:53:14 am
As you will recall, in your former town such monster cars are usually driven by celery-eating, tiny Atherton moms. I'd laugh at the sight if I weren't fuming at the entitled wastefulness that's screaming
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bc
8/19/2014 02:54:47 am
...in my head
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AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
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