Scratch and Sniff
We can all stop holding our breath now because tonight I scratched my brand! new! car! It was bound to happen, and now that it's over and done with, let's all on the count of three release our white-knuckle grip and put the talismans back in the drawer. Just me, then? Okay.
I was only two short minutes away from meeting Simon for gigantic burgers when I brushed ever so gently against the back bumper of a parked sedan at the slowest rate of speed it's possible for a vehicle to go and still be moving. Inspecting the damage, I found neither a scratch nor a dent but a six-inch-square scrape along the passenger-side back door. Gah. I'm such an idiot. There's a reason Paris Hilton has her own chauffeur.
I didn't look too hard at the scrape lest I start crying, and instead called Simon to tell him I wasn't up for burgers after all because I'd just ruined my car. He understood, of course, and with amazing grace he agreed to meet me at home, even though he'd just come from there through rush-hour traffic to meet me and was already waiting at a table inside the crowded restaurant down the street. But if I wanted to go home, home we would go. Simon's saintliness points: 50.
When we met back on our street, I just wanted to go inside the house without looking at the car, but Simon wanted to check out how much buffing and painting and repair $$$ was in my future, so we stopped and stooped and I tried to be brave in the face of the carnage. "Ugh," said he. "Yeah," said I. And then he reached out to rub his fingers along the scrape and BY MAGIC wiped away all signs of trauma save two microscopic chips in the paint! As it turns out, most of the scrape was just dust. Dust! The thin protective coating of dust and road grime that acted as a cushion of filth and miraculously saved me from my own stupidity! Hooray air pollution! Hooray magic boyfriend! Saintliness points: 500!
And hooray also for being at an age where I can swallow my pride and let someone coddle me when I clearly need coddling. While I laid on the bed with my head buried in my arms--still reeling even though the scrape was not a scrape but two eensy nicks--Simon rubbed my back and offered to make me a dinner of pasta, pizza, sandwiches, whatever my fragile little heart desired. Unfortunately, it desired a gigantic burger of the variety that could not be made at home, but I couldn't ask him to get in the car again and drive to the restaurant again and wait for a table again, especially when it would make him late to band practice. So I didn't ask him to do any of that. He'd already done enough. I thanked him and hugged him and pretended I'd be okay with a bowl of cereal, that he should just forget about it all and head off to practice. But darn it if he didn't earn 5 million saintliness points by insisting I get off the bed posthaste and accompany him for gigantic burgers, with bacon, and a side of fries. I'll take him over a chauffeur and a multimillion-dollar fortune any day.
He Gives Me Butterflies
(A shadow exhibit at the Tech Museum.)
Gorgeous...forgot to breathe for a tiny moment there, for both the photo & the non-scratch :)
KEEP HIM! :)
*squish*
You guys rock. Seriously. And I love the photo :)
5 days after I bought my brand! new! car! in November, I was in a parking lot and someone backed into me so that our cars' back bumpers touched. I damn near had a heart attack, but luckily there was no damage to my car. The other guy started flipping about about the fact that his car was only 5 months old and had a big scratch on it now. It took all of my willpower to CALMLY explain that 1) the accident was entirely his fault, 2) 5 months? TRY 5 DAYS!!, and 3) physics would not have allowed the scratch on his car to come from my car.
Am very glad that the scrape turned out to be not a scrape afterall.
Also... Simon could make a killing as a "good boyfriend consultant." I bet girls would pay him a lot of money to teach their boyfriends how to get saintliness points.
The photo rocks. The boyfriend rocks. It's like a rockslide of happiness over here today.
What a sweet post (well, besides the part about you scratching your car)! However, I'm really just interested in where you go for burgers, as I too live in Oakland and am always on the hunt for really good burgers. I like Barney's okay, but they aren't the best I've had by a really long shot. Flipper's in Montclair is pretty good, but still not great.
thanks!
We actually went to Barney's yesterday because I was in the mood to eat something that weighed more than my head. They did not disappoint. One of my favorite places to go for just a good ol' burger, though, is the Smokehouse on Telegraph. It's kinda sketchy-looking, but cheap and good.
I haven't had a burger in far too long. Come the summertime we always OD on the beefy patties at BBQs and whatnot but this post has got me wanting one right now. And with bacon, no less!
I think that photo should be framed and put on your bedside table.
The Chokehouse! That's where my friends and I used to go on Sunday afternoons after the Big House parties on Saturday night.! Man, I haven't eaten there since probably 1999.
It's so wonderful when you hook up with the guy who *knows*. He doesn't have to understand...knowing is enough
Sigh. You two are so dreamy, even when it's difficult! Have a great weekend.
Gawd. today's the day I stop reading your blog.
What a fantastic ending to the story. Made me grump night better, thanks.
Love that photo beyond belief. Love your boyfriend beyond belief too. :o)
Mmm. A boyfriend. With burgers, bacon and a side of fries. Does it get any better?
Scatches provide two worthy opportunities: learning how to apply touch-up paint or adding a zany sticker or graphic to one's car. I mean, your black Honda Civic can't look like all the other black Honda Civics out there forever, can it?
My car is denty fresh, but it's a coupla years old. No biggie.