Ice Ice Baby

I miss parking in my garage. Last night it dropped below freezing and I'm beginning to want my garage back. "Where did my garage go?" you ask.... Well, actually, it hasn't gone anywhere. I'm the one that has been removed from the equation. You see, in the three years that I have lived in my house, I've hit the garage a total of four times. When I say, "hit the garage" I don't mean that I've kicked the wall in a moment of frustration, I mean banged the hell out of it while driving my car.

Let me explain. We live in an end unit, and the turn I have to make is a really sharp one. It is almost impossible NOT to hit the garage as I pull in. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it!)

The third time I banged into the garage, I actually got the car stuck. How is that possible you ask? My husband asked the same thing when I called him in a panic.

Me: I'm stuck in the garage!
Him: What do you mean you're stuck in the garage?
Me: I rammed into it.
Him: Again?
Me: I can't move the car forward or backward, it just keeps making these really awful noises as it scrapes against the wall.
Him: I'll be right there. Don't do anything.
Me: But....
Him: Don't move.

So, for a few days after this "incident" I voluntarily started parking in the open spaces outside my house. My husband seemed surprised and quite pleased. (He just reminded me that in three years, he has never hit his side of the garage. Big Deal! He drives a firetruck for a living. He's supposed to be a good driver.)

Let me also mention that I blame most of my poor driving and directional skills on my friends. They NEVER let me drive anywhere. I offer, and they somehow find a sneaky way to make sure I'm not the one driving. I know all your tricks girls!

Ok, back to my story. After a few days, my confidence was restored and I attempted to park in the garage. That worked for about three weeks. Then, I got a new car. One month later, the new car followed in the footsteps of the old one. The driver side mirror was knocked off and I had successfully scratched and dented my door. My husband must have heard the noise from upstairs, because before I knew it he was standing in the garage doorway.

He never gets mad. I think I've heard him raise his voice a total of five times, and they've all been during World Cup soccer matches. He just looked concerned for my safety, and made sure that I was ok. In the meantime I could just see the dollar signs adding up in his sweet ol' head. It broke my heart. I can't continue doing this to the man I Iove. I'll give him a heart attack by the time he's 35. At that moment, I decided the garage and me were finished. It was a clean break. I haven't been back since.