Wednesday, January 20, 2010

37-Year-Old Suffers the Tantrum of a 2-Year-Old

Sadly, I am that 37-year-old. Day two of MOH (My Other Half) in Germany. Rat drama yesterday, and telecomando drama this morning. Did I not say everything goes wrong when MOH is out of town? This morning started at 4:30 as it always does. Time for café and dog feeding and whatnot. I left the house at 6:00 as usual. I walked out the gate, carefully avoiding the rat carcass thank you very much, and headed to the car.

Oh – a telecomando is a little like a garage door opener. It opens the car gate to the parco we live in so you can get in and out (obviously). We have two of these and one is in Germany with MOH. I drove down our little road to the gate and pushed the button. Nothing. No little red light and no opening gate. Pushed again, and again, and again, AND AGAIN! Slight pause and then a full-on-ridiculous-I-should-be-ashamed-of-myself-meltdown. Banging telecomando on steering wheel, dashboard, whatever.

Then the primal scream; I mean the kind where my throat still hurts almost 12 hours later. The scream continues while I shake the steering wheel for no apparent reason. I am trapped in the parco. Seriously? Didn’t I suffer enough with the whole rat thing last night???? No, I did not. I know there is a back gate that we have a key to somewhere that you can manually open.

I power up the cell phone (which takes for freakin’ ever) and call MOH. Oh, yes. If I am going to suffer then so is MOH – up in Germany in a fancy resort for a conference – WHATEVER!

MOH groggily answers, “...Hello?”

Me all high pitched and whiney, “Mytelecomandowon’tworkwhereisthekeytothebackgateIhavetogotoworkhelpme!”

Pause. MOH, “There’s a key on your key ring.”

Me, “Oh – okI’lltalktoyoulater!”

Hang up. Power cell phone off so he can’t call back and call me out on my craziness. I will apologize to him later. MOH has repeatedly said that I am useless in a crisis, so I know he wasn't at all impressed or surprised.

I drive to the back gate at about 100 kilometers per hour. It’s dark, creepy, the lock is rusty and uncooperative. I finally get it open, drive out, and then have to get the damn thing locked again. Was not late for work (miracle)!

I've resigned myself to the fact that I will just have to deal with the back gate until MOH gets home Friday. It takes FOREVER. I appreciate that I live in a secure area but AAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGG!

Am now enjoying celebratory "I triumphed over the gate all by myself" Bloody Mary. Can’t wait for tomorrow!

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