My post surgical confinement is at it's end (insert Hallelujah Chorus here). Yes. I still have 3 more weeks of official recovery and take 'er easy time, but my doctor has given me the thumbs up to start driving again today. Sadly though, in a cruel twist of fate, I'm unable to sprint out the door, scramble into my beloved VW and get the fuck out of Dodge, as MDH has decided to drive my car to work today (insert trombone wah-wha-wah here), a fact I didn't discover until he had already gone.
When I called him he said, "my car is there, take my car if you want to go out". But that is clearly a trap. And if it isn't a trap, then it was certainly insincere. He doesn't really want me to drive his car.
You see, last month MDH traded in his 12 year old rusty shitbox for a brand new fancy pants car with all the bells and whistles. I haven't driven it yet.
I'm not sure I ever want to drive it.
It's too shiny and fancy, and he's waaaay too much in love with it, and I'm far too likely to leave a smudge or fingerprint and soil it's pristine perfection. Seriously, the first week he had it I crossed my legs in the passenger seat and barely grazed the tip of my sandal on the glove box and he got this sour puss on his face and wiped the "soiled" area with a hanky. Or, the area that he perceived to be soiled, as my sandal left no mark.
Freak.
Worse yet, the new car is parked ever so delicately in our teeny-weeny, narrow apartment garage, and it's not like you can just back straight out, oh no-no. There's a security gate right next to it and the neighbors car behind it and flower beds and a fire hydrant. No. It's an art to get that thing out of the garage so it's not the smartest choice for my first outing after not driving for over 3 weeks.
I can wait.
Meanwhile I have plenty to keep me busy indoors (the TV won't watch itself now will it?).
In other news, while I was busy indoors recovering from my surgery, a horrible, noisy little bird family has made themselves at home in the upper corner of one of our terraces. The good terrace. It's small, but it's the one that is fully covered and gets the most shade. It's the one that I like to sit on in the morning while I have coffee. Or used to.
These little squatters know their shit because this is a prime real estate location. I'd like to use that space myself, except now it's a bloody mess of twigs, leaves, branches and general nest construction material (i.e. small bits of garbage) scattered all over the floor and two hysterical, squawking birds dive bomb my face anytime I try to sit down and enjoy my coffee out there.
And, oh yes, let's not forget the bird shit that's now super glued to all my patio furniture. It's infuriating. I really hate birds.
When I called him he said, "my car is there, take my car if you want to go out". But that is clearly a trap. And if it isn't a trap, then it was certainly insincere. He doesn't really want me to drive his car.
You see, last month MDH traded in his 12 year old rusty shitbox for a brand new fancy pants car with all the bells and whistles. I haven't driven it yet.
I'm not sure I ever want to drive it.
It's too shiny and fancy, and he's waaaay too much in love with it, and I'm far too likely to leave a smudge or fingerprint and soil it's pristine perfection. Seriously, the first week he had it I crossed my legs in the passenger seat and barely grazed the tip of my sandal on the glove box and he got this sour puss on his face and wiped the "soiled" area with a hanky. Or, the area that he perceived to be soiled, as my sandal left no mark.
Freak.
Worse yet, the new car is parked ever so delicately in our teeny-weeny, narrow apartment garage, and it's not like you can just back straight out, oh no-no. There's a security gate right next to it and the neighbors car behind it and flower beds and a fire hydrant. No. It's an art to get that thing out of the garage so it's not the smartest choice for my first outing after not driving for over 3 weeks.
I can wait.
Meanwhile I have plenty to keep me busy indoors (the TV won't watch itself now will it?).
In other news, while I was busy indoors recovering from my surgery, a horrible, noisy little bird family has made themselves at home in the upper corner of one of our terraces. The good terrace. It's small, but it's the one that is fully covered and gets the most shade. It's the one that I like to sit on in the morning while I have coffee. Or used to.These little squatters know their shit because this is a prime real estate location. I'd like to use that space myself, except now it's a bloody mess of twigs, leaves, branches and general nest construction material (i.e. small bits of garbage) scattered all over the floor and two hysterical, squawking birds dive bomb my face anytime I try to sit down and enjoy my coffee out there.
And, oh yes, let's not forget the bird shit that's now super glued to all my patio furniture. It's infuriating. I really hate birds.
