Want to see what your car could look like after having me drive it for 24 hours?
Well, first I have an excellent ability in aiming rocks under the hood directing them to hit the clasp on the reflectors.
Here we have now a loose reflector.
Then, to add insult to injury, this is what happens when same pregnant lady parks in a completely different spot than normal and pulls out of spot, while all the landscaper's at the apartment sit and watch mind you, 2 hours late for work thanks to the previous nights indigestion attack:
Now, you can't really tell from this picture but those scrapes against the black that look white? They are really bright bright yellow. And that light next to the scrapes that look white? It used to have a red cover over it that is now crushed into hundreds of little tiny pieces all over the ground of my parking lot. And of course lucky me gets to drive by the scene of my humiliation each and every day as D is not to keen on moving at the moment. Just now I realized that I should have taken a picture of the stupid poles, because really, they are stupid. I didn't want to use them as a scapegoat so this whole time I have been accepting 100% of the blame but this evening, as I was drowning once again in my stupidity, D so graciously pointed out how he thought the poles were way to short and placed in a very bad spot. I didn't want to say anything earlier but I was relieved to hear that it came from him first, so I wholeheartedly agreed. Needless to say, he's been great about the whole thing, which, of course he would be, that's just D for you. Me? I don't think I would have been so nice to me, hell, I'm still giving myself a hard time. That evening instead of acting frustrated he acted concerned, sat me on the couch with the cat, a blanket and Dr. Phil and told me to take a nap. Which I did, for an hour and a half.
Of course now I feel even worse for the guy because, although I've been pretty calm and collected during this pregnancy, the damn has broken and the hormone surge has been let loose. One moment I'm happy and fine, then, the next I feel like I could burst into tears. Well, that is unless you piss me off and then that's just another story. Like trying to discuss with me when we should go to Babies R Us to register, agree on the time and date and then change it up on me? That will end in a slamming of the front door as I angrily drive away to aerobics. Drive away without hitting any poles of course. I feel very bad for him, but even worse for me. I'm at the point of the pregnancy where I can no longer flip sides in bed peacefully. It takes great effort and thought which I don't really seem to have at 1 a.m. Say hello to my 29 week old belly. Camille no longer just kicks me, she now has learned how to swim. Instead of swift movements I now have waves going up and down over the belly.