I know from past experience working at the college that I am great in a crisis. Except, apparently, when that crisis directly affects me. At which point I become next to useless and the Mister steps up his game like WOAH.
Wait, let's back that up a bit. Friday. Friday we were heading out to Detroit for a surprise birthday party.
Wait, let's back that up too. Thursday we eagerly welcomed R into the states. You might remember R as that guy who welcomed us to Mexico and helped us assimilate into the culture back in the day. Well, he's got a new position here in Michigan, and we're pumped to return the favor as he gets used to the USA. So we invited him to join us at the party.
Wait. Wait. Let's back up just one more time. Since Dora just had a bunch of work done following THIS incident, we decided she would be the ideal, "peak-condition vehicle" to make the drive. And because then we could fit Mac in the car too, the puppy could have a play date with the Mister's parent's dogs while we celebrated at the bar. Everybody wins.
Wait, okay just one more. As we had a weekend FULL of stuff to do, the Mister had promised us that we would go to the party and return in the same night, so we wouldn't be all rushed in the morning driving back across the state for the next round of events.
I'm not good at plots and emotional build up. You already see where this is going.
The drive from home to Detroit is about two hours. About an hour and a half in, just past dusk, Dora's dashboard lights start to fade.
A few minutes later, the check-battery light starts dinging.
We had about 60 seconds at that point to say "We'll probably make it all the way to the party. We'll go in the for surprise and then we'll figure it out." before, in the middle of the dark interstate, the headlights went ka-putzsky.
So the Mister, being awesome, managed to pull off the interstate, get us to a gas station, and figure out where we were to call a tow-truck, while explaining that he had already diagnosed the problem as a jank alternator. My contribution to this response?
Wandering up and down the tiny aisles, looking at all the stuff in the gas station's convenience store and trying not to panic that we were stranded, and our whole schedule was knocked off kilter, and we wouldn't be able to get home tonight, and I didn't have an extra pair of clean underwear or extra dog food for Mac's breakfast, and how much was this going to cost to fix, and we didn't have a ride to get anywhere familiar, and oh my god the world is falling apart around me. Let's be real, I probably would have benefitted from a paper bag at this point.
The tow truck could only take one person. So the Mister used his mad networking skills and called a friend who was in the area and agreed out of the kindness of his awesome heart to pick up the Mister and R, and bring them to the Mister's parent's house. And THEN he managed to convince the tow truck guy to allow Mac to ride in the cab with me, so I would feel more comfortable going off into the night by myself with a total stranger.
By the time all this transpired, the party had ended. But thanks to the Mister, he, R, Mac and I had made it safely to the in-law's house for the night. Dora was at a mechanic, and in the morning we could go and get her fixed.
The Mister got up bright and early and borrowed his brother's car to talk to the mechanic and approve the work needed on Dora. He brought us to the optometrist in the mall so I could get a sample pack of contacts so I could see (I wear dailies and the ones I had worn out to the party had long since expired.) And then he got everyone breakfast and drove us all home in time to go to the cookie party that I had made 7 dozen gingerbread mustaches for. And THEN - because I had slept next to zero minutes the night before* - then he took a nap with me.
The Mister never takes naps. That, he did just for me. Talk about icing on the cake. Naps are my favorite.
So we survived the weekend and for the thousandth time the Mister was able to be my own personal knight in shining armor. I am legitimately debating making him a set of costume armor for these situations. Or a cape. Maybe both.
Where does your significant other become your hero/ heroine?
Do you have a specific example? Share in the comments!
As long as I'm in bragging mode, other things the Mister routinely saves me from: Any and all computer problems, being a social hermit, being an un-caffinated hose-beast, calling contractors, plumbers, or other people who would ask specific technical questions about why we need them at the house that I sincerely would have no idea how to answer, and of course, Spiders. Horrible, horrible, nasty, gross spiders.