Maverick Loves Mr Green Jeans

I’m scheduled on an early flight to Ohio Friday morning and while I’m super excited to visit with my friend, I’m also ridden with anxiety. My husband Erich, calls this my “wiggy” mode and he points out that I go into this mode right before I travel. Anywhere. Everytime.

A few days ago I drove into the planter in front of our house. If it wasn’t for the bush in the planter, I would have hit the house. I swear I pushed the park button. But at the very same time I pushed park, my red Powerade spilled all over my beige leather. I was so busy sopping up my spill with my sweatshirt, I didn’t notice that my car was moving forward; until I heard the thud of my tires rolling over the planter curb and the crush of my car’s front bumper against the bush. When I backed up, out of the planter, some of the bush stuck to my car.

Side note: My husband is Mr. Green Jeans; he built the planters and trims the bushes and makes his own compost to nurish our foliage. Our yard is my husband’s pride and joy.

I contemplated (briefly) not mentioning my faux pas to my hubby. Erich already knows I’m not a good backer-upper because of the dents in my Acura from the basketball pole. And he already (mistakingly) thinks that I don’t park so good and he constanty (annoyingly) tells me where his Harley is located in relation to my car.

I have always been a good parker. Until now.

Eventually, I decided Mr. Green Jeans would notice the evidence. The gaping hole in the bush, the tire tracks in the planter and the curbing was kind of sunken down. And leaves littered the driveway.

I went inside.

(lightly laughing) “Um, hi Hunny, how was your day? Guess what? I almost made the TV room a drive through!”

What happened. (his response was more of a statement than a question and he wasn’t laughing)

“I thought I hit the park button, but I didn’t. And I spilled my Powerade everywhere. But the bush stopped me. Don’t worry. I didn’t hit the house or anything.”

How is your car?

“It’s fine. I pulled some branches out of the grill, but really, it’s fine.”

Is it wrecked?

“Oh no. Just a small dent but you really can’t see it. It’s not like the dents on the Acura.”

Did the branches puncture anything?

(not laughing anymore) “Oh. You mean on my car? Well, I don’t think so. Wow. I guess I didn’t think about that. But it’s not like I accelerated into the planter. The car just sort of rolled there.”

It turned out that my car was fine. And so was the bush, and my husband. Although, I think he is secretly looking forward to putting me on the plane this Friday morning.

On my way home tonight my husband texted me: Be sure to use the park option on approach, Maverick.

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