It Could've Been Worse....Really.

So, last week, I finally made the decision to throw my husband outta the bedroom. Now, it’s been two years since Steve’s gone and the widows assure me I’m right on schedule to make this change. It might sound easy enough but after 30+ years of marriage, it’s harder than you think to change our room into my room. But the decision was made. I picked out new bedding. All I had to do was pick it up at Macy’s.

Calvin Klein's Magnolia

Now, it’s a pretty well established fact that I don’t like malls but there was no choice. Macy’s at Huge-dale was the only store that had all the parts of Calvin Klein’s Magnolia bedding in stock. So after a very busy but happy day at work, I set off to the mall, a scant five minutes away.

It took almost 40 minutes to get there. No construction, no accident, no nuthin’ except bad driving. I was already piqued by the time I turned into the lot, but no worries. I found a decent parking space, and off I went to brave the crowds.

In the bedding department, there was one girl (and I mean girl) more concerned with chewing her hair ends than with helping the people milling aimlessly about looking for help. Let’s make this short. After three minutes of pointless conversation with her I asked for a manager…and the manager wasn’t much better. She didn’t know the combination to the stockroom door, and she didn’t know where the stock was actually kept. While she set off to figure it all out, I assisted the other people with their questions. Having done bridal registry for 15 years at Dayton’s/Marshall Fields-now Macy's, this was something I actually was qualified to do. Everyone was happy they didn’t have to talk to the shining star behind the counter still chewing on her hair.

Bedding loaded into the car, I headed for the grocery store. Now, people at work were telling me that they “fixed up” Rainbow Foods in Eagan and I should go there. Well, I thought, what the heck. I’ll give ‘em a try.

BIG mistake.  Not only was the store dirty and to be frank, gross, they didn’t have half of what was on my list. I almost abandoned the cart at one point, but talked myself out of it. I waited on an interminable line to check out, and finally got the bags into the car. As I backed out and turned into the lane, I saw pedestrians, and another car trying to turn into a nearby space, blocking the lane. I stopped.

Something made me turn my head…and I saw her. She was backing up. I couldn’t move. I laid on the horn. She didn’t notice. She just kept backing up….and then, the sickening sound of crunching metal reverberated through my car. People gasped…ogled…then scurried away as I got out of car.

Thankfully, the hitter was an employed young person with auto insurance. After the adrenaline stopped squirting out of my head, we exchanged info and she had the grace to say, “I just told my insurance company it’s all my fault.” I graciously agreed with her assessment, but added, “Y’know, it’s just stuff. There’s no blood, no ambulance, no limbs on the ground.”

Meanwhile, I’m calling home on the cell and my father-in-law is not picking up. I tried several times. Now I’m not only upset, I’m worried. I race home, only to find him sitting on the porch without the port-a-phone…but he did hear the messages I left. He inspected the car and pronounced it easily repairable; I should stop aggravating about it and go fix some drinks.

Being it was Friday night, I made cocktails, a fine getting-ready-for-Shabbat tradition Steve started when we were newlyweds. Getting my blood pressure back to normal, I go out to light the grill. It’s a balmy evening, and I’m thinking it’s not so bad, the car will get fixed. Everything will be just fine.  I go back into the kitchen to prepare the chicken, and then I go out to the grill…that very same grill we gave Steve for Father’s Day about ten years ago.

There is the bottom of the grill lying on the bottom of the grill. Not exactly a good thing. End of barbequed chicken. End of my patience. End of my frayed rope.

Now, I'm not a particularly superstitious person or believer in apparitions, but I gotta tell you, it was beginning to look like someone was a little peeved about the upcoming bedroom change. I gave this careful consideration this as I changed gears and got the chicken into the oven. 

You wanna know something? It's none of his damn business. I'm here, he's not. I get to make all the decisions. If I want to paint the house pink with purple polka dots, there's not a frickin' thing he can do about it. 

I think this is part of letting go...and I think I'm actually okay with that. I'll keep you posted.

Meanwhile, we picked out a new grill on Sunday... thanks to my father-in-law who likes his steak grilled.

The Wifely Person's Tip o'the Week

If the bottom of your grill lying on the bottom of you grill...
as illustrated above...don't use it for cooking.
The dripping grease will probably set your deck, and then your house, on fire.