Blog Archives

Gloating is definitely worth $79 plus installation

Husband is an excellent driver. He can back a trailer with the greatest of maneuverability skills and has never been in an accident. Actually, he taught me to drive and I’d like to think I’m a decent driver, as well. Still, I’m a woman and sexism is alive and well when it comes to driving.

Last night, we went bowling with Sister and Sister’s Fiance, who will be known as D in this post. In order to sit in the back and watch some ridiculous video about farting, they wanted me to drive. On a side note, this video involved women sniffing each other’s farts and they used my auxiliary port to connect the phone to my car’s speakers. It made for an amusing drive, especially since I only had the audio side of it. Sorry to those of you who have a maturity level higher than that of a 10-year-old.

Anyway, I get stupidly self-conscious when I’m the driver and the boys are in the car. Both of them are critical of Sister’s and my driving skills and I always feel like they’re analyzing every move I make. This isn’t in my head. When we went over a set of railroad tracks a little faster than I meant, I saw the look they shared in my rearview mirror. You know, the one that says, “Only penises should be behind the wheel.” Sometimes they even make comments out loud. “Yeah, that’s why I installed the premium brake pads,” Husband remarked to D when I made a turn. Sister and I just roll our eyes and ignore the comments. There is some truth to what they’re saying and we know it. After all, I may never have caused a wreck, but I did pull the bumper off my old car by backing into a friend’s flower pot in their driveway.

This morning, Husband was driving and started to make a right turn to park on the side of the street. As he turned, I thought, He’s turning awfully sharp. But I didn’t say anything. A few seconds later, there was a loud thump as the right side of the car lurched onto the curb and back down. We pulled over to park and I stared at him in disbelief. He NEVER does anything like that.

“What the hell? Did you really just drive on the curb?”

“Whoops…” was all he said in reply.

“I never want to hear you mock my driving again,” I retorted.

“Oh, well. I’m sure it’s fine. I hit it on the flat part. There’s no way it did anything.”

I opened the passenger door and heard an unmistakable sound.


The look of horror and embarrassment on his face was completely worth any trouble the flat tire would cause. We got out and inspected the damage. Somehow, the curb had put a hole in the side wall.

Fortunately, Husband is extremely handy (he’s actually a mechanic) and was able to change the tire with no issues. When we got home, he looked up the price of a new tire and told me, “Well, I guess tomorrow when I get off work, I’ll take your car in to get two new tires.”

“Damn right you will,” I said. “You’re the one who broke it, after all.”

When we had those crazy windy storms a couple weeks ago, we lost our trash can. It was my fault because I left it outside and forgot it was out there until I saw it flying away as I watched through the window. Husband has been teasing me mercilessly since then, insisting that I owe him a trash can and I need to save my pennies until I can replace it.

He now says that we’re even. An eye for an eye, a trash can for a tire.



Seriously. I can’t even make up this stuff.

I’ll make this one short to make up for how long yesterday’s was. (Thaaaaaat’swhatshesaid?)

This is another one of those “only in my life” sort of stories, similar to yesterday’s post about the Golden Corral.

So, yesterday I was on my way to the gym for my second session with my trainer, Barry. I have to drive through a section of the freeway which has been Construction Zone Hell for the last few months – concrete walls, orange barrels, approximately 15 feet in which oncoming cars get to merge, the whole shebang. There’s an SUV to my left and a concrete wall to my right. I’m cruising along, enjoying the sounds of 90s alternative rock, thanks to my new favorite station.

Suddenly, the wind picked up.

They Ain't So Tough..

They Ain’t So Tough.. (Photo credit: Mr. Ducke)

You see that mashed-up orange barrel? One that looked identical to that began blowing into the road in front of me, rolling over itself like a plastic tumbleweed.

I’m going to get a little cliche with you now, so just bear with me. It was like a slow-motion scene in a movie. You see, I have a car that isn’t quite three years old, yet. I’m a very cautious person and I’ve never let anything happen to my precious car. (Yeah – you with the runaway grocery cart. I keel you.) So, I panicked.

I couldn’t go left, due to the SUV and as I said, there was a concrete wall to my right.

Horrified by the bailout.

(Photo credit: cdresz)

I’m going to hit it, I accepted. There’s no way around it.I hit the brakes to lessen the speed of impact. I even swerved a little, so I wouldn’t hit it completely head-on.

After what seemed like five minutes of scrunching my eyes and white-knuckling my steering wheel, I finally heard it.


I seriously thought I was going to puke. Images of the cavernous dent in the front of my car filled my mind. My hands shook furiously. I wondered who I would have to call to sue the State of  Ohio for their clearly incompetent workers, who would allow a barrel to just float across a busy stretch of highway. By the time I got to the gym, I was surprised that I had even made it there, since obviously the front of my car had been reduced to scrap metal.

I got out and squatted to examine the damage, with a pit in my stomach.

No dent. Seriously?? There were some globs of grease smeared on the bumper, and maybe some slight scuffs of the paint underneath, but no substantial damage to be seen.

So, amazingly enough, nothing really happened. In about 30 minutes, I’ll be driving through that same construction zone on my way to work. Do you think anyone would judge me if I attached a snow plow to the front of my compact car?