it doesn't hurt If I hadn't called my parents, this post would probably be a lot more emotional than it's gonna be. Yesterday was a good day at work. I got to work by myself with a blender for a good 3/4 of the day. The last part was just running some things, calculating, and clean-up. I actually walked out of the lab at 5:40. That was a good thing because we were going to be meeting my husband's parents and some family members at a restraunt in the suburbs of the Cities. I needed some extra time to shower, and then of course for the drive time.

I blasted the Deaths in the car on the way home, driving by the neighboring house, seeing that the concrete man had been over there, starting the preparations for laying a concrete slab. The preparations at our house were identical (both houses have been re-done by the same man, therefore, they are getting the same improvements made to them). I got out of the car, ready for the weekend, ready to be happy and silly, and there was John standing in the doorway...

"Mellie....did you see what happened?" he asked.

I assumed he meant the concrete stuff. "What?" I looked around the ground, looking for a problem.

"I got into an accident..." he muddered.

My freak lights went on and I started to panick. Since he was standing at the door, my initial picture was a fender-bender or something. I had parked right next to the Subaru, the Subaru we've owned for only a little over two months, but I hadn't noticed anything. I turned around and looked and didn't see anything. I walked around to the driver's side, and, sure enough: the ugliest snarl? Snarl. I don't know. Dent. No, it's more like turned up plastic and snarled car parts. Snarl is the only word I can come up with, because that's what it looks like and how it makes my stomach fill up with butterflies and acid. It makes the blood boil inside of my veins. My vision focuses on verbal hurt and physical violence. Okay. It did the same thing then. I immediately yelled and cursed. "What the hell, Critter! Do you know how much we payed for this?"

Then I realized we lived in town, no. I had actually never forgotten. I swear, my neighbors probably think I'm some kind of bitch. Everytime I'm outside, I'm yelling at the dog for digging holes or at John for crashing the car.

So I finally got to come inside of the house, and I yelled and screamed at him. "I knew I shouldn't have come home."

"Probably not," my anger said.

"And you're leaving," John said. My heart sank.

"NO." I said. We yelled at each other some more. I knew I was acting like a child, but oh. I don't know. I ran in here to call my parents, to ask how a person should react in these sorts of situations. I've been married for almost 4 years now, but it's still all new to me. I don't know how to act in some situations. John is my husband, but our relationship is more like best friends, so I often freak out more than partner up and solve. I'm just like that. My parents weren't home, so I just went to our bed and cried and thought about how it was to ride in the Subaru for the first time, how hard it was to actually get approved for a loan. (I was STILL not employed at that time).

Soon, John came down to the room, and I finally let him hug me, and he told me all about how he had everything taken care of. What had happened. He thinks it was his fault. He and some other guy tried parking in a parking space at the same time, and they crashed. He was going about 10-20 miles an hour. If the car hadn't been made of plastic, nothing would have happened. I just couldn't hear these things. But, anyway, it's going to the autobody shop on Monday, and should be all fixed by Thursday at the latest. John swears it will look better than new. I just can't look at it.

I remember this one time, my mom and I had been walking down the road. I was really, really, REALLY little, and she had stepped on a fruit or something on the ground. It squashed all over the road, and I started to cry because my mom had killed whatever it was and made it look ugly. That's kind of how it feels to look at the car.

I keep telling myself, at least it's not the Cavelier (the car my parents gave to us). But I still wish it hadn't been any car at all.


The Subaru about a day or two after we bought it.

ps: I talked to my mom and dad this morning, and when John gets home, he is getting a big hug. I am so mean to him. I really am. I can cry over dented cars and squished fruit, but yet when it comes to the man I love the most, I crush him every time.  ¶ 9:31 AM