According to AOL weather, here in Chapel Hill it’s now 13 degrees outside. And feels like 0 degrees. Zero! I can’t even believe it. I mean, this is the South. It’s not supposed to get that cold!
In other news, I survived the weekend and our annual party, where it was also pretty cold. It used to be that a lot of people ended up outside on the back deck, but the number of smokers have dwindled as the number of babies grew (this is getting older, I guess) so only my friends Courtney and Cameron seemed up for braving the cold. The dogs were out there as well, or at least they were supposed to be: my husband and I had a deal that they would stay there until AFTER everyone had eaten, but somehow they kept getting let back in, at which point they’d dash around madly, immediately zeroing in on whatever plates had been abandoned. I saw Monkey get a bunch of shrimp at one point and thought, Uh-oh. Then we’d wrangle them back up, shove them back outside, where they’d stand on the other side of the glass door, in full view, looking pathetic. Eventually we took pity on Monkey and put on this little coat we’d bought him (he’s the only really short-haired dog we’ve ever had) at which point he looked even MORE annoyed, now at us for him being outside and at the the indignity of the coat. Personally, I thought he looked pretty cute.
Anyway. It’s that last week before Christmas, things winding down slowly. We were out running errands last night and were amazed at how many people were OUT for a Sunday, going to dinner, having drinks, walking around. I guess this week is the kind where people aren’t in school or working the entire time, everything feels a little more relaxed. We were relaxed, after dinner, as we walked out to my husband’s truck, which we’d parked in this lot in Carrboro. As we get closer, he says, “What the—” and I look to see that there’s a car parked right behind us. I mean, not a few feet, not even a few inches: its front bumper was against his back one. But it didn’t look like it had hit it. It was just there.
At first, we thought it was a joke, someone we knew being funny, blocking us in. But we didn’t recognize the car. My husband was about to go berserk (he’s a little touchy about his truck) when this guy yells from the restaurant across the street, “Hey, man, is that your truck?” My husband says yes, and the guy comes over. He says a woman had come into the restaurant to report a car rolling (slowly) across the parking lot, but they weren’t sure what to do about it. When they came out, they found it like we did, barely touching our truck. So they’d been waiting for someone to show up. He and my husband go over, see the car is in neutral, with no ebrake on, and decide to roll it back. (The guy from the restaurant lit a cigarette first, which tickled me for some reason.) So they push it, and we move the truck, and then they decide to push it back, so at least it’s in a space and won’t go anywhere else. Once that’s done, we thank the guy, wave, and he heads back to work, we head home. All is well.
Except, of course, for whoever owns that car. I mean, think about it: you park, you go eat dinner, have a beer, do some shopping, whatever. A while later, you come out, and your car is not where you left it, instead all the way across the parking lot in an entirely different space, with most likely lots of cars now in between. Can you imagine that person, standing there, scratching their head, so perplexed? I’m thinking maybe we should have left a note. I know it would drive ME crazy. Wouldn’t it you?
have a good day everyone!