Why I don’t negotiate and a spot of flooding

30 Aug

We picked up the new car last Saturday and most impressive of all, I drove it home all by myself, and didn’t cause any major traffic incidents! Awesome!

After signing on the dotted line and handing over the required bank cheque, Ry finally felt it safe enough to leave me in the company of the saleswoman. Within seconds, I ruined any chance of us getting another good deal from her.

Me: Well, this is the last weekend we have for ages where we could both come to pick up the car.

Her: *quizzical look and silence that I have a paranoid need to fill*

Me: Ry does shift work.

Her: Shift work? Really? *intense stare* That’s exciting, what’s he do?

Me: Oh he works at Nepean hospital.

Her: Reeeeeeaaaaaally? He a doctor?

Me: Yeah.

Her: *mental file open, add dollar sign, close file, and smile* Well make sure you come back when you need your next car now, won’t you.

Me: *….sh*t.*

This all took place in seconds – mere seconds – before I was even aware we were having a conversation. And this is exactly why I kept my mouth shut through much of the conversation that’s been going on for the past week or so. Because, given an opening, I’ll give my entire life history to a complete stranger without thinking anything of it.

Luckily, we’re not thinking about buying another car for at least another ten years because a) this purchase was traumatic enough and b) I am totally in love with my first ever set of wheels. It helps that the car is gorgeous, smells all nice and new, and has this nifty way of getting me to wherever I want to go without requiring me to write a detailed map and strategy of where I want to go that I then have to submit to the transport gods, who chuckle at my human frailness and ensure that only the most convoluted, time-consuming route will be an option.

Ah. Freedom.

Anyway, after taking The Boy out for a Sunday spin where I tried not to emasculate him with my driving prowess; we arrived home to The Flood of 2010. Not quite as bad as The Flood of 2008, where we had to rip up the entire bathroom and have it completely resealed in an effort to avoid any future floods, but close. There was water dripping through the kitchen light again, which makes me think that either the workmen who cleaned up The Flood of 2008 were a bit sloppy, or we have a major plumbing problem. Either way, we’re screwed.

So we did what any completely responsible 20-somethings would do. We turned off the mains and hoped that it would go away. Then we called a plumber, feigned ignorance, and hoped that he would make it go away. Then we thought about selling the house, quickly, but soon realised that we’d probably have to sort the whole plumbing problem out first since now whenever you turn a tap on the whole house shakes and emits this terribly painful moaning sound that goes on for ages, scares the hell out of guests when they flush, and probably has the neighbours wondering just when they should call the police.

After all that excitement – the car, the flood, the cleaning up after Milo because he’s decided using his litter tray in the laundry where all the weird noises comes from is now way too scary – I have a headache. Which I have convinced myself is actually due to my impending ovulation. Which is, in turn, making it very hard to sit still here at work when all I want to do is race home and make some babies. Because that’s what hormones and a steady relationship does to you. Makes you crazy.


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