Buns of steel and scrap gold

Do you ever just get inexplicably furious at inanimate objects? I do. I hate to admit it, but I have a zero-tolerance policy for things that don’t function as they should. Like car-doors that don’t open.

G’s door in the car gets jammed… just to annoy me, I am convinced. First, it doesn’t properly unlock. Then, it opens, but gets caught. I have to shut it again, then it is locked, I unlock it and open it and it gets caught… Repeat… repeat. Usually after a couple times, I reach in and manually push the lock and it opens. But it is so irritating! I always have my hands and arms full with toys and papers, and kids, and bags. And I just want it to OPEN... you know, like doors are built to do.

So, yesterday, I was on my way to do a favor for someone. I was feeling a little ungracious about it since it meant lots of driving and sitting in the car with the kids (after rushing them through breakfast and getting dressed and bathroom check, and coats on and, and, and...). I was getting ready to load the kids in the car, and G’s door started acting up. In a moment of rage, I shrieked and slammed it shut with my hip (twice… at least). G is looking at me, puzzled by such an outburst: a look that I will remember in horror, later, when I am more composed.

Last night, the hubs runs to the store. He calls to check on the list and adds: “Did you know there was a dent in the car?”

No, where?

In the driver’s side, rear door

Hmm, I don’t know (I hadn’t put it together yet)

After we hung up it hit me…

When he got home, I went outside to verify… and sure enough, an imprint of my hip in the side of the car…… plop… (heart sinks to pit of stomach recalling episode)

“Oh,er, uhm... that may have been me… (whispered very, very sheepishly)

Ahhhhh, it just makes me sick to my stomach, especially since we are going to be selling it soon. How do I explain the butt-impression on the door? Maybe if I can get famous really fast, it’ll increase the value.

And hey, I could have lied about it… and didn’t, that counts for something, right?

I guess I just didn’t know my own strength…. (loud guffaw)

My hubs said it changed how he thought of me. I asked if it was because I had a fit of rage or because I told him the truth. I asked him if he could forgive me. He said for a price… and snatched a piece of my quesadilla. Weasel.

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In other news…

We had our first garage sale today in preparation for our move. This is the one where we sell all the clutter we don’t really use or need right now: the little bookshelves I bought in college, the high chair, unused strollers, the massage contraption that my husband bought me one year in hopes he would be saved from further massage-requests: “Here, now you can do it yourself!” The only problem is that it hurts. We also got rid of some kids toys that they kept trying to play with now after weeks and months of not touching them (sorry kids!… and G is getting less and less enthused about the move every time I tell her we have to sell something so we can move to Chile).

Garage sales are funny events. Our signs said 8am. People start driving by slooooooowly around 7:20. There is a knock on the door at 7:40 “Are you having a sale today?” … Uh…Yes, at 8!

I tried to be more than fair on pricing, but then, you want to price it a little higher because garage sale psychology says that most buyers will offer half. There are the people who will buy it for whatever price you say. Then there are others who, looking at an item that is brand new, with tags, marked for $2, look at you like you are out of your mind. Really, if I just wanted to give it away, I wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble of a garage sale, you know?

Then there is the man asking if we have any scrap-gold… scrap gold? I don’t even have non-scrap gold. Isn’t the term “scrap-gold” an oxymoron anyway? So he gives me his card and says if I know of anybody to give them his number, he’ll come and haul it away…. Because, it’ll be so heavy…

Then there is the guy looking for old laptops. Nope.

Then a guy asks we have any hunting and fishing gear for sale. No? and then jokes…What kind of garage sale is this anyway?

Then there is the Nigerian Taxi-man who wants to barter to the death… which is really uncomfortable. .. and then asks if he can pay with a check… uh, no… (and not because he is Nigerian, he just happens to be the only one who asked).