How I Annoy My Husband: My Bad Parking and Unparking.

          I drive my own slightly dented car carefully to my various volunteer jobs and appointments on weekdays.  But on weekends, Paul drives his newer car as we tool around town or on trips.  I drive badly. That’s why.  I don’t get into accidents, luckily, but I often hit things with my car.  Unfortunately some of the things I have hit are other cars, including Paul’s old car and my daughter Kat’s car.  Paul and Kat were not happy, as you can imagine. 

          I gave poor Charlotte, my old blue Honda Civic, her first dent near the front headlight while I was pulling out of a parking space at the Celestial Seasoning Tea factory in Boulder, Colorado.  Kat and I had just taken a tour replete with silly hair nets, and were ready to go back to our hotel.  I pulled out too tight and my car’s front bumper got wedged in the back bumper of a massive pick-up truck. I heard the loud scraping of metal against metal and my heart skipped a beat. When I got out of the car I saw the bumpers stuck tight.

          The owner of the pick-up came out of the factory just as it happened and I began sweating profusely when I saw the size of the guy.  He was half the size of my Civic and barreling towards me. He wore a hairnet, so I assumed he had either just been on a tour himself or was one of the Celestial staff.  But the feminine touch did not diminish the sheer force of his size.

“I’m so sorry!  They’re stuck,” I said while making a sympathetic face.

          Hairnet man glared at me while his mouth tightened. He assessed the situation while Kat slouched down in her passenger seat trying to be invisible.

          “I think I can pull out. Let me try again,” I said and got back into my car.

Thankfully the cars became unstuck after another squeal of metal. 

I got out again and checked both cars.  Only mine had some damage and his pickup was fine, thank goodness.

          “Ok” he said.  A man of few words

          I dented Charlotte’s rear bumper when I backed into a tree while parking at a campsite in Ouray, Colorado.  Kat and I had spent a fun few weeks at two Colorado KOAs that summer. The tree was fine, I’m relieved to say.  I could never live with myself if I knocked down a living creature.

          Then there was the time I scratched the side of my newer car, Lena Blue, while making a long scratch on Charlotte.  I had given Charlotte to Kat for her graduation. My old car sat peacefully in the driveway and as I backed Lena out of the garage, I came too close to the other vehicle.  The loud noise brought Kat to the scene of the crime. 

          “Mom, what did you do?”

          “Oh no, I’m sorry!”

          I gave Paul’s car a long scratch as I pulled out of our current house.  It wasn’t entirely my fault.  Our handyman was working in the garage using a large loud machine to cut tiles.  He was installing our new floor.  A thick orange electrical cord stretched between his tool and the garage outlet under my car. The cord sat flat on the floor.

          “Can I drive over it, Leonardo?”

          “Jes, you will be fine,” he said with his melodic Venezuelan accent.

 I pulled out of the garage, staring at the outlet so my car didn’t yank out the cord as I drove over it.  I overcorrected to the right.

          Screech.  There was that horrible sound again as my car made a long thin scratch on the side of Paul’s older car, Drg.

          “Oh no!” Leonardo said.

I knew I had to do the responsible thing so I said, “Let’s not tell him, maybe he won’t notice.”  Leonardo grinned.  I was on my way to an appointment so I left.  Unfortunately, Leonardo told Paul soon after.  I shall never forgive that usually charming man.

          My car lost some paint on the metal surrounding the right rear tire.  We checked into the cost of body work on both cars, but it would have been about $1,000, so we forgot about it.  At least I did. 

Flat Tires

          I have often come too close to curbs while pulling into or out of parking spaces.  I hate that familiar bang while feeling the car raise several inches off the ground. I’m filled with dread as I get out and check the tire.  I did this in our local public library lot and sure enough the tire was flat as a pancake. 

          I called Paul. “Can you come help me?  My tire is flat!”

          “What did you do?” he said before rushing out of the house to change the tire.  

        Since Paul now owns a 2017 Subaru Forester, named Forest, we decided it’d be safer for him to drive more often to avoid my mishaps.