Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Vince and I went shopping the other day for miscellaneous stuff. It can only be called “miscellaneous” when you have to shop at one store to replace a broken glass globe for a ceiling light, another store for a bottle of mature multivitamins and a third store for a shoe horn. There was no such thing as one-stop shopping for us the other day.
We went to three stores before we chanced upon the very last shoe horn that Target carried. Vince had a bit of a desperate look in his eye as he practically badgered the clerk into finding another one – any other broken down and ratty old shoe horn they might have lingering “in the back.” Why? Well, because it was an animal stripe print. Only I don’t really know any animals that are hot pink- and black-striped.
The clerk said it was the last one they had and even tried to convince Vince that it was a “manly” sort of shoe horn. The look he gave her caused her to scurry away in hopes of finding something easier to handle, like perhaps tackling a shoplifter or something. In defeat, we ended up purchasing it. Vince wasn’t very happy about having to use a hot pink striped shoe horn, but was a little happier when it rang up as a dollar, down from $10. Frugality wins over manly posturing every time.
I was thinking about that shoe horn last night when I parked my car in the garage. We have so much crap in there I can barely fit the car inside. Could’ve used a giant shoe horn to maneuver the vehicle so that it doesn’t hit the sky-high pile of boxes on the right, or the shelving unit in the front – but leave enough room to get out the driver’s side door without bashing into the trash can on the left. Even worse, we currently have a large carton that needs to be unpacked sitting in front of the shelving unit – so I had even less room to maneuver.
Sigh. We need a bigger garage.
Or maybe we just need to get rid of a whole bunch of junk.
Sadly, I didn’t have that giant shoe horn last night because I didn’t pull the car in far enough, and unbeknownst to me, the garage door scraped the bumper on the way down. Vince noticed it right off when he came home after me – probably because he heard the screeching sound as the garage door scraped the bumper on the way back up, too.
So he kindly moved my car farther into the garage and then also kindly didn’t mention it until we finished dinner. Probably he wanted to have a nice meal together before I got all pissy about the bumper. And, sure enough, I was mad at myself about it all night about it. Not to mention a little sick about it, too.
This morning was a different story. I started to pull my car straight back out of the garage as I do every morning…only I couldn’t. Apparently, Vince had pulled the car in a little too close to the right-hand side of the garage so that it was rubbing up against the sky-high stack of cartons.
I hadn’t moved two inches before one of the boxes lost its precarious hold on top of the pile and crashed down upon the top of my car. I immediately stopped and got out to see the next cataclysmic tragedy that had befallen my vehicle and noticed that the entire pile of boxes was leaning dangerously close to my car ready to topple over at the slightest movement.
Clearly I couldn’t fit between the right side of the car and the stack of boxes to do any good. Heck, a 90lb. emaciated supermodel wouldn’t even have been able to get through there. Nor would a giant shoe horn have helped in this situation. Feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on, I walked around to the front of the car, but couldn’t even reach the boxes to move them away from my car.
I stood there for a moment debating whether or not to call my boss and tell him I’d be late as I was feeling a little, uh, “boxed in,” (sorry), but instead figured it was more prudent to shut off my car. No need to asphyxiate myself as the garage – despite the open door – was filling up with carbon monoxide. While scratches on the bumper are upsetting, they are not a good enough reason to end it all.
Feeling even more determined (and a little desperate) to get myself out of this situation, I gave a superhuman stretch and was somehow able to shove some of the boxes out of the way – although not before disturbing another stack of flattened boxes, which slid off and conked me on the head, making my headache even worse.
By this point, I could only shake my head a laugh a little ruefully. It was either that – or scream. And I didn’t want to disturb any neighbors that had the good fortune of sleeping in this morning.
So I got back in my car, started it up and gingerly pulled away from the boxes. And, lo and behold, I was out of the garage without suffering more dings or dents to my car.
I quickly shut the automatic garage door opener without looking at the mess inside because I didn’t want to deal with it. And then I drove like a bat out of hell toward work so I wouldn’t have to explain my tardiness.
I can only wonder what Vince will think when he gets home. He’ll see a pile of flattened box (probably impeding his progress to the back door). He’ll also see either (a) a Jenga-like configuration of boxes haphazardly stacked along the wall ready to topple over any moment or (b) a disturbing pile of boxes lying in the middle of the garage floor because they finally gave up and fell over.
Yeah…I think we’re definitely gonna need that giant shoe horn. It’s either that – or we’re gonna have to rent another garage somewhere. I don’t think my car can take any more dings, dents or scratches and I don’t think I can take too many more shots to the head. I’m dizzy enough.