Last night, we took the boys and some friends to a professional soccer game. There was lots of traffic trying to park, so Dave dropped me with all the boys by the stadium and went to park the car (MY car, incidentally, which is larger than his, and takes some getting used to). We went into the game, and shortly after that, Dave called to tell me he’d backed into a spot in the garage, and in the process, hit a concrete panel that was sticking out, and shattered the back windshield.
It was an accident. I get it – accidents happen, and as long as I knew Dave was okay, and he’d had a garage employee help him put some plastic over the back and fill out some paperwork, it wasn’t that big a deal.
To me, anyway.
Dave met us in the stadium. We looked on our phones and made an appointment to have someone meet me with the car and fix the windshield this week. So, the broken windshield was covered, and we’d made arrangements to have it fixed. Problem solved.
To me, anyway.
I’m going to chalk up what happened next to the difference in our gender. Or the fact that Dave is the one who shattered the windshield and felt like he needed to do something about it.
He continued to hem and haw to figure out what we should do, which to me seemed silly to me, because as far as I was concerned, we HAD done what we should do. Dave tried to figure out how we could cover up the windshield better (which, okay, is probably a good idea, since it might rain later). Made sure I’d gotten the model year of my car correct (um, yup). Called the windshield repair company back to confirm. Thinks that maybe we should back my car into our garage tonight, in case it rains. Which could be a good idea, except that we have a one-car garage that its overrun with about a thousand basketballs, bikes, and other miscellaneous outside crap. So we’d have to leave the garage open, and I think there’s a fair chance we could do some more damage to the car trying to back it into a 1950s garage that wasn’t really designed for a 2000s SUV. And this morning, I awoke to a plethora of notes about what we need to do.
I guess what I’m really trying to do here is to get Dave to just put this aside and enjoy the rest of what this summer, seems like one in a series of very short weekends. I’m ready to move on, knowing that we’ve taken steps to fix the problem. So, I’ll get back to you, friends …. not sure if today will be a relaxing summer Sunday, or a day to fix a problem that in my mind is on its way to being fixed. But at the end of the day, I’ll still be glad to have spent the day with my problem-fixing husband.