Saturday, 19 November, 2011 08:23
My husband, Steve, is a tall man. He has a tiny car. Let me illustrate:
|Image Source: The Simpsons (of course) and here
No, I mean… He’s reeeeally tall. And it’s really small. Let me be clear about this:
Okay, so now you know all you need to know, I think, to picture the look on my face when I realised that our pending two-week driving trip to Sydney would have to be undertaken in Steve’s car. Not my luxurious, roomy
LEMON of a car but his two door trolley sized vehicle.
See, here’s the thing (and why my ranty blog post was ruined by kindness): This week we have been handed a quote from the mechanic for $2,500 worth of repairs to my little French delicacy. We have spent at least that much in less than six months on the blasted thing for incidental “we’ve never seen that happen” repairs. As one good friend put it, “Ahhh, Kirril, French cars are like French women; they look good, they’re petite, appear fun and relaxed… like a secret affair. Then when they know they’ve got you, they start draining your wallet.” He is not far wrong. Not far wrong at all.
There is just absolutely no way that we can a) go to sunny Sydney and back without the fan (note: not the air conditioner, this $2,500 is simply to get the not-working FAN fixed!) or b) spend that sort of money right before we go away.
Our driving trip has been described to the LGBB lately as “our adventure in Daddy’s car.” We’ve had no choice but to use the fallback run-around. The phrase “We’ll just have to pack light” is putting it mildly. We both know it. Without saying it, we’ve been dreading it. But thinking positively. Hey! It’ll be memorable. Let’s see if we can do it
and survive each other. So the plan to take Steve’s car has been moving forward.
The plans have been coming together fairly well:
|…with MUCH less animation (source: here) and no festive balloons
If you ask me what I picture in my mind when I think of having to “pack light” for two adults and a five year-old in a folding seat two door hatch with a boot space the size of a glove box, it sorta looks like this:
|Except these people have it lucky, they have rear doors. Bastards. Source
Imagine my utter – sputtering, gobsmacked – humble delight, then, when on my way up to Peace Space
for a preparatory refresher day of a course I did back in 2009 (I’m taking on some new energetic healing work, it’s another post for another time… but I’m excited!) I was sent a message from the mum of one of the LGBB’s closest kindy friends.
Turns out, she was telling her husband last night about our car trouble. He suggested, “Why don’t I take Steve’s car and they can borrow mine? I only use it to run to the station anyway.”
Despite the absolutely shitty drizzle that had settled in for the long haul over Melbourne today, the clouds parted and a ray of sunshine beamed with an angelic “Ahhhhhhh”. Okay, maybe not that last bit. But I swear, you could have shoved me with a feather.
To say Steve and I are humbled and grateful for this massive offer is putting it mildly. We did the “Are you SURE” dance back and forth a couple of times. But finally, to avoid any offense being inadvertently taken, we graciously accepted this awesome hand-out.
I’m still speechless by it. The generosity of some people still delights and renews me.
So, I guess… Sydney and surrounds, here we come! In a Honda 4wd! And not a matchbox! Whaaat?! This is nuts. Am I dreaming? *still pinching myself*
Are you a giver?
What have you been given that knocked you for a humbled six?
Note to self: NEVER Google “packed tight”, “tight squeeze” or “tight man in car” EVER again.