Not long ago, I mentioned that we had an ‘event’ in our corner of the world that could take first prize in the “most-annoying-husband” contest. I’m sharing this now only because enough time has passed that I can tell the tale without the very real possibility of my head popping off — something I was convinced was going to happen at the time. In fact, as I type, I can feel my blood start to boil. Perhaps I’ll only write a couple of lines at a time because the darlin’ is working at home today (a treat in and of itself!) and if I write it all at once, I might just have to run upstairs and smack him upside the head every few minutes. So here we go …
Six months ago, we moved, to a new home in a new country. Prior to moving, we had lived apart during the week for 2+ years so I was accustomed to ‘doing it all’ as far as family life was concerned. Not entirely easy but the job required it and so ‘ya do what gotta do’. And let’s be honest with him only home on weekends, the house was cleaner, the schedule tighter and I could channel Jerry Sienfeldand eat cereal for dinner whenever I wanted. So when moving time came, it was just like day-to-day life, I was in charge. From endless open houses, to packing up, gathering records, transitioning kids, researching the new place — blah, blah blah — lots of you have done it, par for the course. So I gave my husband one job. ONE. Uno. One f*%$#inglousy, simple, straight forward, task. It was up to him to handle our vehicles, moving, registration etc. He’s your typical male car fanatic and generally claims to know everything about the topic and it was only one job — boys and cars — how tough could that be?
Weeeeeelllllll … fast forward through 4 months worth of “Did you call the Registry?” “Did you mail in those forms?” “Did you get the title?” “Did you…Did you .. Did you???” Hey baby, I’m not hiding anything, when push comes to shove, I can nag with the best of them. The main problem was that the car was in his name, so as much as I wanted to take over and spit out the standard response to male procrastination — big huff “… FINE… I’ll just do it myself!!!” — I couldn’t. I was stuck with having to rely on the boy. Ugh.
Naturally, I should have seen it coming. On the very first day of 2009 — Happy New Year!! — I pull up to the 4-way stop near home and out of the corner of my eye see a cop in front of our house. Of course I panic and FAIL to come to a full and complete stop. With great pleasure the cop points out the my license and plates should have been switched over months ago and he yanks both and parks my car. Funny enough, that was not when my head exploded. It was a few minutes later when my dear husband pulled the yet-to-be mailed-and-now-crumpled forms out of his briefcase and said “Well it wasn’t me who ran the stop sign.” I can assure you it was days before I was capable of speaking in a tone that didn’t frighten small animals.
Thankfully every call to every girlfriend that day, and there were many, all resulted in that same sharp intake of breath and the instant “Heeeee did NOT?!?!?!!?” that we all love to hear. One friend, who is both brilliant and practical, was right on the money, “ALWAYS have the car in you name. Because one day, when you have no choice but to run him over with it, you want to make sure you keep the car.” Very good point.
To add insult to injury, his own car, properly registered months earlier I might add, was a two-seater (Hello mid-life crisis!) and as much as I was game to try, stuffing both kids , 2 scooters, and 4 bags of groceries into that front seat was only going to jack up the ticket debt way past the $500 that I was already trying to swallow. So, I had to suck it up and spend a small fortune to rent a a little piece of junk (AKA ‘the dork car’ according to the kids) with actual legal license plates for 10 days while my dear hubby dealt with the paperwork.
Stunningly enough, it didn’t end there. A few weeks later he got pulled over himself because he had failed to put the front plate on his own car — spoils the look don’tcha know? He assured me that before we moved, he only needed one plate — so how was he supposed to know he had to put both on here? “Duuuuuuh — maybe the fact that the registry gave you two mightabeen your first clue?” Judging by his reaction, pointing that out didn’t really help. He followed that up with a ticket for parking on the street over night, right below the NO Overnight Parkingsign and today I pointed out for the third time that he’s driving around with only one brake light.
So much for boys and cars being a good match. Is it any wonder that I have a single hair left on my head?