Alrighty, folks, this marks week # 2 of Brian-abandons-his-wife-fest-2009. Technically, he did come home on Saturday for 24 hours, so I can’t say that he will have been gone for 2 full weeks, but you get the idea. And side note—I have always hated it when people say things like, “I got all A’s this semester except for 3 B’s!” Because the truth of that statement is that you actually did not get “all A’s”… you got some A’s and some B’s. And because of my hatred for statements like these, I feel it is only fair to say that Brian is gone for 2 separate 1-week segments, rather than 2 weeks at a time. And if you are still reading, you now know what it’s like to talk to me in real life- a series of ramblings about things that I find frustrating.
So anyway, this week is off to a slightly more rocky start, but really I view these things as minor setbacks in my quest to stop being co-dependent. But let’s be honest, as soon as Brian gets home, I’ll go right back into my co-dependency and love every second of it. Because let’s face it, my water just tastes better when he fills up my bottle for me.
Ok so anyway, seriously, getting onto the topic at hand now, I promise.
Yesterday one of the lights in our antiquated kitchen decided to take 10 minutes to turn on after I flipped the light switch on. So obviously, for those 10 minutes, I assumed the light had burned out. But of course it can’t be a standard light bulb, because hello, this kitchen was designed at least 300 years ago. It’s some long skinny light bulb, and while I’m sure the changing procedure is the same, I still spent those 10 minutes fretting about how to take care of it. So the good news is that it hasn’t done that again, so let’s cross our fingers it continues to function until he gets home.
Oh and also, I should mention that my only roach spotting of the week occurred on Saturday morning about 2 hours before Brian arrived home. So being the kind wife that I am, I left it there (it was dead) as a welcome home present for him. And measuring in at 1.5 inches or more in length, it was a wonderful present indeed.
Ok so then there was the problem with the garage door. I have come up with this really great laying out method for the days that I don’t feel like driving over to Brian’s parents’ neighborhood pool: I lay a towel on the sidewalk that runs between our backyard and garage, and set up a box fan facing the towel that plugs into an outlet in the garage so I can stay cool. This is all fine and dandy (except that I only survived in the sun for 30 minutes before melting, even with the fan), until I tried to close up shop and lock the door to the garage. I kid you not—I spent 5 full minutes (all the while still melting, mind you) trying to lock the door. I even tried to jam the key in upside down in hopes that the lock had just been built incorrectly. I finally surrendered and call Brian, only to learn that the door locks from the inside by pushing the knob in and turning it. That would have been great to know before my flesh burst into flames. Thanks.
The pinnacle of my bachelorette mishaps yesterday, however, occurred at the car wash. Because I am both (a) a sweet and loving wife and (b) embarrassed to have a filthy car sit in my driveway all week, I decided to take Brian’s truck to the car wash. I would have washed it myself, but as I’ve mentioned, summer in Houston does not allow for normal outside activity. And I was feeling lazy. So I went to the fancy Blue Wave car wash down the street.
The problem started when I tried to align his truck’s tires with the little ramp things to enter the car wash. I was fairly certain I was at least 3 feet off on one side or the other, but the attendant waved me on anyway. He pointed to the directions that say to put your car in neutral and blah blah blah. He then yelled something to me but I couldn’t hear him, so I just plowed forward.
So here I am, driving in the dark unknown with giant scrubbers and soap blocking my vision. I felt the car drifting to one side so I put my hands on the steering wheel to correct. At this point, I was fairly certain I had driven off track and was about to crash into the wall, so I think this was a fairly logical response. Apparently not, however, because at that very instant, the car wash came to an abrupt stop, as did my car and the other car ahead of me. Awesome. I broke the car wash.
A nice young man (I sound 80?) then came over, tapped on my window, and while stifling laughter, informed me that, as the directions indicated, I needed to keep my hands OFF of the steering wheel and my foot off the brake. Apparently that was the “blah blah” part of the instructions. Oops. Either way, he repeated it several times because I’m pretty sure he thought I was mentally disabled. I looked helpless and told him that it was my husband’s truck and I wasn’t used to driving it. Do you think it helped that I was sporting a sorority t-shirt and listening to “Poker Face” on the radio the time? I don’t think so either.
Anyway, I made it out of the car wash alive (as did the car), but I still felt embarrassed. And that, my friends, is exactly why I don’t like to go into situations like that where there is even the slightest risk of me looking stupid. Other examples of these situations would be car washes, any places that deal with cars for that matter, the deli counter in my office building, etc. I would prefer to take someone else with me so that they can risk looking stupid instead. In fact, I have been known to drive to the oil change place, and park before entering the line to make Brian switch places with me just so he’ll be the one at the wheel answering the questions they ask when we pull up. I’m so mature.
As you can imagine, this proved to be a big problem growing up, as Allison harbored the same fear of looking dumb. As such, it was a constant argument about who had to call to order the pizza (what if they ask a question I don’t know the answer to?!), or who had to call our advisor in college about how to switch into a different class, etc. And by the way, I still don’t like to order at the deli at the grocery store so I make Brian do it. Last time we went together, he put me on the spot and tried to make me order. The result? I stomped off and pouted for 10 minutes in the greeting card aisle while he ordered the turkey. Don’t test me.
And oh my gosh I just realized I am writing way too much. Apparently I have had all of these thoughts stored up for the last week and had no idea. I thought I had writer’s block and that my muse (Brian) leaving town was the cause. Apparently the thoughts were there all along and just stuck inside my brain. Good to know.
Ok so wrapping things up, the day was not a total wash, however, as my dad decided at the last minute to drive into town and have dinner with me and my grandparents (his parents). They are so sweet and always offer to feed me, and while they didn’t think that our grilled cheese dinner was particularly fancy, they are forgetting that a grilled cheese made by Jean Mom on the George Foreman Grill is way more exciting than anything I would make at home.
And I will wrap up this ridiculous waste of a post by telling you that Allison and I coincidentally gave my dad the exact same Father’s Day card this year. We live in different cities and I assure you we did not discuss the cards in advance—I like to say that we used our “twin”tuition. HYSTERICAL! I KNOW! I CAN’T STOP LAUGHING EITHER!
And if you made it this far, bless you for your patience. Have a great day!
Oh and PS- the whole point in me writing this post was about the ants that attacked me when I fed the dogs this morning, so I’ll have to save that for another day. Lucky you!