We all have those moments that make us say, “Damn, does everyone else know I’m a genius?” And then there are those that make us say, “Good god, I’m lucky to have made it this far in life.”
Let me tell you about my biggest oh-shit-I’m-an-idiot moment.
It involves the most expensive thing I’ve ever purchased and my inherent distrust of cars parked in front of my house.
If you all remember, I had to buy a new car after graduation because there was just no way to continue the rad Willsey carpool. So shortly after I officially became an adult with that nifty piece of paper Mizzou hands out, I did the most adult thing I could’ve done: moved home and got a car loan.
Proud.
I am not in the habit of treating my things like things, so naturally I named my new SUV and treated it exceptionally well.
I hand washed it often. I parked it inside every night. I never ate a greasy drive-thru burger in it, even when I was severely hungover. We’re talking true love.
Then one day I took myself out of my stereotypical millennial situation of living with ma and pa and moved into a house with what one would call a normal garage situation.
[Let’s just put it in perspective of what I came from: I was used to parking Big Booty Judy in a garage that my dad can fit his F-350, crew cab, long-bed truck inside. It’s real roomy.]
At this point, I’d had my car about 13 months. It had just lost its new car smell. It was a little babe. I had lived in my new house for about a week and felt like I’d become a pro at entering and exiting the garage made for Barbie cars.
So on the fateful day, I took to leaving the house as nothing more than reversing and going. But wait one single second. Who said the lawn people could park in front of our house? And who was that man with the weed eater coming up our driveway?
And that fairly simple, explainable situation is what murdered my passenger-side mirror.
Have you ever been witness to a “car crash”? It’s equal parts sad and scary. An overall traumatic experience. And truthfully, I’m quite proud of myself for hitting the brake and not the gas pedal in my distress. Small victories.
As any adult living on her own, driving her adult purchase would do, I called my mom in tears. If you ask her, I was overreacting… she thought I had hurt myself on a mirror.
Well, basically mom.
Do you know what one mineral gray Ford Edge mirror costs? $463.
Do you know what you pay when you expertly hit your mirror and you only need one part and your dad is really handy with super glue? $73
Karma is real, people.
In the time it took for that one part to come in, I truly learned the importance of side mirrors. Try merging onto the highway without using your mirror — I dare you. It’s a damn guessing game… but admittedly somewhat thrilling.
I took it upon myself to tell everyone I’ve ever talked to the dangers of parking inside a garage (it might seem worth it but really weigh out your options). I also decided to measure my garage width and compare it to my car — mirror to mirror — just so everyone would know exactly what I’m up against. I have three inches on either side to shoot my much-too-large-for-me SUV into the normal-sized garage.
I’ve been living at the scene of the accident for nearly two years now. Every time I leave and come home it’s a game of “will she or won’t she.”
We’re moving soon, into a house for life (as in we bought it, have a mortgage, pay interest, all that jazz). When we decided to make an offer, the first thing I did was measure the garage doors. I’ve lost three inches. THREE CRITICAL INCHES. I'll have a whopping 1.5 inches of breathing room on either side.
Moving day is May 11. I’ll keep you posted.