If you ever feel like your life is a little too normal, and you wish you had a little more adventure in your life — don’t.
(Sometimes I wonder if I subconsciously create or attract these situations of drama so that I have a subject to post about later. . .)
I got sloppy this morning, and I confused the timing of a brunch date. I was in the middle of exercising to Zumba Core on the Xbox360 (trying to get some exercise in because I knew I’d be busy the rest of the day), when I got a text from one of my friends that she was already on her way to the café.
I flew to my laptop, double-checked my Facebook messages, and immediately realized my timing mistake. I took one of my fastest showers, threw on some clothes, got Bowser in his crate, and ran out the door.
And that’s when my car wouldn’t start.
And suddenly nothing else in the world mattered — not that I was late, not that my hair was wet and knotted, not that I couldn’t remember where I’d left my car garage-door opener, not that I hoped the front door was locked . . . My world was ending because something I’d always taken for granted was suddenly the most important thing in my life right now: my beautiful 8-year old car.
I tried again. A little something — then nothing. I tried again. Nothing. I waited. A little something — then nothing. I texted Brian; I texted one of my friends. What do I do? Then, on the next attempt a “Service Vehicle” message flashed on my dashboard, and the next few days immediately flashed before my eyes. Would I make it to tutoring? What about taking my friend to Chicago on Sunday? What about getting to work? I just took my car in! Would I have to take it in again? I don’t to take it in! Suck it up, Teri!
Brian told me that my car maybe just needed to warm up. “How do I get it to warm up?” I cried. “With time,” he texted me. Time?? I didn’t have time. I was already 20 minutes late!
(By the way, how do you warm a car up that’s too cold to start? It was already in the garage. Are there big thermal blankets make just for cars that heat them up enough to start? And if there are, I want one.)
Long story, short (but not really), after a few more attempts, the car finally started. And then I couldn’t get the garage door closed. Because — if you remember — I didn’t remember where I’d put the garage-door opener, and the outdoor garage-door key pad decided it wasn’t going to work either, and also the keys I needed to get into the house — so that I could locate the opener or at least run through the house after hitting the indoor garage door opener — were in the ignition of my temperamentally running car, AND because I don’t actually have a driveway — my garage door opens up into an alleyway, facing rows and rows of other garage doors — my car was sitting in the middle of an alleyway — at the precise moment that one of my neighbors had also chosen to leave their house (but with much greater success, except for the annoyance of the crazy neighbor who was blocking the entire alleyway). Phew! (Take a breath here.)
So, to make a long story short (for real this time), my totally awesome other neighbor from across the way went into my garage for me and hit the indoor opener button and then did some crazy Mission Impossible run back through the garage and limbo-y hop/dodge under the door and over the sensors, and I was able to finally leave and be unfashionably late to my brunch — which was really more like “lunch” by that point.
Thankfully, my car started after the café. And it started on the way to the tutoring session (which I made sure to leave extra early for). And it started on the way back from the lesson. Thus, I am temporarily convinced that my beloved baby (car, not infant) is not going to die — as previously feared — and will live for many, few happy years to come. (But, it’s clearly officially over the hill because suddenly cold weather is preventing it from getting up in the morning.)
In conclusion: I love, love, love my car. And I’m perfectly happy with my life the way it is. Normal is GOOD. (Did you get that, universe? Please don’t take my car.)