Remind Me

To tell you about what happened at work tonight. I swear I will. Even if you forget to remind me. 

It was one of the most surreal experiences of my life to date. 

I Am a Worrywart

So many things have gone wrong for me that I’m afraid to believe that anything could possibly go right.

Case in point, the car. We found it Wednesday, test drove it, checked it out, but the check my mom sent to help us out was on hold until Thursday, so we couldn’t buy it then. We stopped at Big Lots later, and my husband was about to put a steering wheel cover in the shopping cart when I completely freaked out.

‘You can’t buy that! We don’t have a car! It’s bad luck!!’

You will notice I said a car, not the car, and certainly not our car, because those would have been bad luck too, our car being worst of all.

Maybe a tad excessive, but I just knew that if he got that steering wheel cover, our car would be sold that afternoon, and we’d be left empty handed again.

Then Thursday morning, between the bank and the dealership, cash in my hand, when he asked if I was excited, I truthfully answered that I wasn’t. I felt better because we finally had the money, but there was still the huge fear that someone else had come in and offered more than we did. The money was a safety net; if he had sold our car to someone else, we could find another one promptly.

And the panic when my husband wanted to haggle now that we had the cash in hand! Surely he would laugh and tell us to leave.

Even when the paperwork was nearly finished, I still couldn’t let the doubt go. I mean, you never know, right? A plane could fall out of the sky onto the lot.

I have a serious problem with making contingency plans. I can’t help myself. If you think it’s incredibly unlikely, I’ve already thought out how it will affect the rest of my life, and probably everyone else’s as well. And yet, somehow I miss planning for the things that actually do happen.

So guess what happened Friday night? The check engine light came on. How awesome is that? Then I had to plan for how the car salesman would laugh in our faces the next morning when we told him we needed a fan clutch. Because things couldn’t possibly go well. I couldn’t dream of that.

And yet, they did. He had the part delivered to him and dropped it off with my husband on his way home, because my husband would rather replace it himself. That’s how he rolls.

It’s okay, though, I can still worry that his dad will either forget to bring his toolbox when he comes to town Wednesday, or that something will happen and he won’t be able to come to town anyway.

I can’t help borrowing trouble.