'Cause You Gotta Have Friends

So...just a thought or two about the weekend:

(Yeah, I know it's Wednesday...and that this could have been more interesting on Monday.  But, whatever.)

It was definitely one of those Is-the-glass-half-empty-or-has-it-completely-shattered-on-the-floor? kinds of weekends.

Actually it wasn't that bad.

Just one tiny part of it was.

Let me explain.

So, I have this car.

Ironically enough, it's the exact same make, model, year and color as my husband's car.

Both of which we bought long before our chance first meeting at church.

(That's when I knew I was a gonner.)

Only mine's an automatic.

And his is in Utah.

Important details, trust me.

About four years ago my car started to shift a little hard.

Mostly when I was weaving in and out of traffic on I-15.

Anytime I would take it to the shop for an oil change, I'd try to explain the problem,

In my ever-so-expert car jargon.

I didn't want to be one of those dumb girls that didn't know a thing about cars.

Ha.

The mechanics usually blinked.

Sometimes twice.

They probably refrained from saying something demeaning (quite considerate, in light of my complete ignorance),

And then proceeded to tell me I should get some $300 procedure done on my car that would do something that I can't remember that might fix the problem, but they really weren't sure.

So.

Of course,

I did nothing.

Fast forward a few years and a few thousand miles.

The car?

In Indiana.

Still shifting hard.

Really hard.

But not too hard to merit any work--at least according to the mechanic down the road.

"Bring it in when it becomes a problem."

Fast forward a month or two and, heck, 100 miles (?).

The car?

Just passing downtown Chicago.

In rush hour traffic.

Still shifting hard.

So hard it's making my car lurch

And squeal.

I'm mad.

My husband's mad.

We're both mad at each other.

Dang car.

We get to where we're going (the Temple of all places!),

Just in time for the "Check Engine" light to come on.

Shoot.

We survey the situation for a moment,

Say our apologies,

And proceed inside--not to think about cars or gears or tempers for a good 90 minutes.

Then, we're back in the car.

But, now it's dark.

What to do?

The original plan was to swing by to say hello to some of Aaron's high school buddies who live nearby and then have a late-night drive back to South Bend.

The detoured plan ended up being to swing by to say hello to some of Aaron's high school buddies who live nearby and then mooch off of them for two days, eating all their food and wearing the same clothes for 48 hours.

I hate feeling like a leech--especially a smelly one.

Hate it.

But.  This is where the glass did not shatter.

You see, Aaron's friends (I actually consider them my friends, too) are exceptionally awesome.

Exceptionally.

They put us up for two nights (instead of us having to find some dingy hotel).

We slept on their spare bed (which, in its pillow-top glory, is something of a vacation all by itself).

They made us homemade pizza and Caprice salads and oatmeal raisin skookies (our stomachs felt like they were on vacation).

They let us go to church with them (which is perhaps the nicest thing they did...because, honestly, in my smelly, leechy state, I was even embarrassed to be seen with myself).

They helped us locate a transmission shop that would open early Monday morning.

And then,

Then,

They told us to take their car.  As in, take it to South Bend.  They were going to Hawaii and didn't need it.  So...they lent it to us (meaning, not only did we now have a way to actually get home, to get around for a week, and to get back to Chicago to pick up our car, but it wouldn't cost us anything more than a tank of gas).

Where do friends like this come from??

Heaven?

I'm sure.

I know for a fact they are going to paradise (at least for six days).

But then,

The story doesn't end there.

It ends somewhere after we find out how, despite Aaron's expertly relayed sob story (repleat with all that Greek persuasiveness), it's still going to cost us $$$$ to fix the car.

And somewhere after we find out how our tax return is on it's way for $$$$ (the joys of spending 1/2 of the year in joblessness).

Which means it's only going to cost us $$$ out of pocket.

So, boys and girls, the moral of the story is,

Sometimes your glass really is just plain, flat-out, half-empty.

But, as long as you have good friends,

It at least averts being smashed to oblivion.

And for that,

We are truly grateful.