Do-Over!

Did you ever have do-overs as a kid? Like when you were playing with your brother/sister/imaginary friend and you had to take turns and your turn was less than satisfactory you’d do a do-over and hopefully things would go better the second time? I feel like that is how my weekend was. It was ok, I guess, but man if the 2-day-time-constraint doesn’t put a lot of pressure on you to enjoy yourself, dang it!

I got my eyes checked on Saturday. The appointment took for-freaking-ever! I had to have my eyes dilated which makes waiting even worse because the light hurts your eyes and everything is blurry close up and far away. You can’t read and you can’t look out the window. I busied myself by organizing my purse. It was awful. To top it off, my prescription is wrong so I have go back. Balls!

So that was Saturday. Oh yeah, I went grocery shopping and cleaned the house (with Wes’ help!) and did the laundry too, but I feel like my appointment sucked the life and fun away from Saturday and what was left was a bleary tired mess. Two things I learned though: one, it’s fun to go out in public when your eyes are dilated as wide as saucers. Two, Wes is super-fast when it comes to cleaning and I should ask for his help more often (kidding, Wes! Maybe…ok, not really).

On Sunday I went to church, ran some errands, went back to church, got my oil changed, and then tragedy struck (why does tragedy always wait to strike on the weekends?). I was driving away from the oil changing place (don’t even get me started on the derelicts they employ there) and making a right turn when suddenly my steering wheel became really heavy. I mean, whoa! you know? So I’m not familiar with what it means when your steering wheel gets heavy and I try to accelerate out of the turn only to find that my gas pedal isn’t doing anything when I press down on it with my beautifully-boot-clad foot.

This is when I look down at the dashboard and every single indicator light that my car possesses is on. I look at the RPM-meter-thingie and it’s on 0. That’s when it all came together: at some point when I was turning right my car turned itself off. The power steering was off and that’s why my steering wheel was heavy. I slip the gear shifter to neutral and drift my sassy little way over to the side of the road and call Wes. He says that since I’m so close to home I should try to turn Kermit (my lazy car) back on and drive home.

I turn the key and Kermit starts and then dies. I try again and as soon as he starts I give him a little encouragement with the gas pedal. Kermit’s engine is running so ragged that it feels like I’m being scrambled but he’s going so I start my way down the street (don’t mind me, it looks like my car is in the depths of an ether binge but everything is fine!). Just before I’m about to turn left onto our street the engine shuts off again. I’ve got momentum going by this point and I’m thinking I’ll just drift into the driveway and everything will be fine.

Wrong! Traffic is coming from the other direction, I’ve got to stop my dead, lifeless car in the middle of the street and pray that it will turn on again so that I can drive into my garage. I’m still on the phone with Wes at this point and he may have been exposed to some potentially fatal profanity. Thankfully, Kermit starts again and I pull his shuddering, cracked-windshield, dented, scraped, and bald-tired little self into the garage and turn off the engine.

Oh, did I mention that because he’d gotten his oil changed there was smoke floating up from the hood? Yep, my car is so well-made that when I get the oil changed my car smokes like it’s on fire for the first couple drives. Don’t you just wish you drove a Kia?

So, today I drove Skippy (Wes’ car, a very nice and safe Toyota Camry) and he’s going to try driving Kermit back to the dealership to get him fixed. We’ll see if the damage is covered under warranty. I hope so but I doubt it.

I did, however, have several highlights this weekend. I ate fresh French bread, watched “The Count of Monte Cristo” (I’ve read the book in French and English and love the story. The movie was great and didn’t disappoint me at all. Hooray!), my husband helped me clean the house so that I had time to give myself a pedicure, my dog nailed all his obedience training, I got about a billion hugs from my impossibly cute nieces, and I made homemade lasagna and it turned out great.

In spite of the positive things that happened this weekend it was very stressful overall. That’s the bummer about the weekend. It’s only two days long and usually crammed with all the crap you don’t have time to do during the week. It puts a lot of pressure on you to enjoy the little time you have and then when you don’t it’s pretty disappointing.

It makes Monday kind of difficult because you’re staring down the barrel of another long work-week and you’re not sure if there’s a good weekend waiting on the other end. I sure do wish you could call a do-over on your weekend, but unfortunately my bosses aren’t as gracious as my little brother was and they won’t let me. It’s ok, though. The nice thing about weekends is that, no matter how bad your weekend was there’s always another one in five days.

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