Further Adventures with the Car, or The True Meaning of Love

So, since I have proven completely unable to manage the spatial adjustments necessary to get our car into our teeny little car elevator without scraping the crap out, we have been parking in the teeny little streets around our apartment. This is generally fine, and we usually find a spot. Last night, however, I came home around 10 pm, parked the car and went to bed. We were awakened at midnight by the police. Not a sentence that usually brings good tidings.

It turns out that I had parked in front of another building's garage door. In Brussels they don't just tow your car away when you do something mind-numbingly stupid, but they give you a chance to correct it. While I didn't understand this at first, the enlightened wisdom of such a policy dawned on me last night. Check out an early post, "The Move" for more info on this practice: http://beerandwaffles.blogspot.com/2006/11/move_14.html

So, I went down in my pajamas in the pouring rain. My sweet husband, who knows better than to park in front of people's garage doors, realized that sending his half-asleep, pajama-clad wife into the downpour at midnight wasn't the best idea, and he came with me.

First we received a stern lecture from the police about how stupid we were. Next, a very large German diplomat, who had been waiting in a very large German car to get into his apartment, balled us out. He told us that he works 16 hour days and the last thing he needs is to have to wait around to get into his own house. I sympathized with him, and could understand his anger. If I was in his position, I would be ready to rip people's heads off...

I remember the one time someone blocked our driveway in Canada. I didn't even have to GO anywhere, but I was so annoyed at the other person (I think because his car was a gleaming Jaguar, and I could just picture the owner -- some top hat and monocle wearing Mr Burns-esque plutocrat who felt that he had the right to park anywhere he wanted, damn what the little people thought) that I called the police and watched from my upstairs window in gleeful satisfaction when they towed it away. I then dragged Andrew to see a movie, just to prove that we DID need to get out. Before we left the car's owner arrived -- a very frail and bewildered looking Chinese man. Oh dear.

Anyway. I had sympathy with the large German, although he did go on for quite a long time. After he had had left, Andrew pointed out that if he was so anxious to get home, working 16 hour days was silly, and that perhaps he should reexamine his life-priorities (Andrew hadn't thought it was wise to actually convey those thoughts to the German's face).

Anyhoots, we then drove around the neighbourhood for five minutes looking for a spot. Finally, we found one, two blocks from home. We had to walk back through bucketing rain. At midnight. On a work night.

I have to say the night was a revelation to me of the saintliness of Andrew. If the situation had been reversed I would have been extremely grumpy with him. Both "extremely" and "grumpy" being giant understatements. But Andrew didn't say a word of reproach about being woken up and dragged out into the cold as a result of my own idiocy.

That's either true love or a man repressing some deep homicidal urges. Either way, it makes him a pretty great husband.