So the other day i did one of those really bad things that make you approach the hubby like a guilty child.

I scratched the car (not just any car… the custom painted, super shiny car)

And it wasn’t one of those, “oh look at that, i wonder how that happened???” type of scratch. But a “fuck, i can’t hide that” kind of scratch.

Which, by the way looks WAY worse now that i rubbed my fingers across it.

While hoping it was just a random line of dirt, intellectually knowing that it wasn’t, i rubbed away all the road grime and highlighted the right bumper area like a giant arrow pointing to the offending scar that proclaimed “I DID THAT”.

My first option was to wash the car. But who are we kidding, a randomly cleaned car would have instantly admitted my guilt.

My only other choice was to come clean. The hubby always said, if i told him about this kind of stuff upfront he wouldn’t get mad. I hardly believed that, but at least i had something to retort.

“You did WHAT?!”
“You said you wouldn’t get mad”
“I did?”
“Yes”
“Oh, i did, your right. Thats okay, its just a scratch, no big deal, how about a latte?”

Ironically hubby didn’t say anything. Which usually means “not good” when not good means “you totally broke the car.”

But he let it go. He was being totally cool, and let it go.

How cool was that? I spent days thinking of all the apologetic story lines, the it wasn’t really my fault one, or the i didn’t see it in my mirror one, or the some bastard did it and drove away one, and of course, the  I’m sorry one… But i didn’t need them.

The hubby was a hero, after ten years together he wound up surprising me once again.

Well… that was until i left the house the other day and he shouted as i was getting into the car

“Don’t hit anything.”

Nice. Not so surprising after all.

*Note to self

It’s not THAT bad…

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