Let me begin by explaining the whole ordeal.
Last Sunday, Dickie’s sister came to lunch & as we headed out to the pub, we got to the end of the road to discover that our car was gone. We danced from one foot to the other as we both racked our brains about where we’d parked it last. This soon turned to worry & guilt on my part as I thought maybe we’d been towed before I realised that I’m an ACTUAL resident & therefore this left us with the only conclusion… our car had been stolen. Gulp. I didn’t even think that happened any more!
At this point, myself & Dickie went down two completely different paths of coping with the situation. Let me explain…
Dickie: text policeman friend to see who’s best to contact.
Mel: call the f*cking police.
Dickie: search around in phone looking for policeman friend’s number.
Mel: Google whether it’s 101 or 110 that you need for non-urgent police matters (the answer is 101 by the way). Oh screw it, just call the f*cking police.
Dickie: call 101 & insurance company.
Mel: Think of work. Slack colleagues to discuss working from home. Get drawn in to work chat, end up answering email.
Dickie: drink ALL the wine.
Mel: don’t drink all the wine. Contemplate moving. Visualise what our next home will be like. Start a new Pinterest board.
Dickie: call police every couple of hours to enquire whether they’d found vehicle, agree they’ll contact when they have news, contact again every few hours. REPEAT. Contact insurance company, discover we don’t have hire car cover but we do have gap insurance. Do a little dance. Plan next car.
Mel: have a full meltdown, crying about Arthur (I gave the car a name) being all alone with strangers & having nobody to look after him. Freak at the thought of no car & therefore no independence. One word: hormones.
Dickie: speak to neighbours looking for sympathy, thinly veiled under the disguise of asking whether they’d heard a car alarm. Spend at least 3 hours searching car dealer websites for Range Rovers.
Mel: demand hire car, do nothing to fulfil this request. Blame hormones.
Dickie: speak to local offices looking for sympathy, thinly veiled as a request about whether they’ve got CCTV. Spend at least 3 hours searching car dealer websites for Range Rovers.
Mel: still demand hire car, do nothing to fulfil this request. Blame hormones.
Dickie: contemplate leaving hand written letters on all high value cars in the local area looking for sympathy, thinly veiled as wanting to warn them about thieves in the area. Spend at least 3 hours searching car dealer websites for Range Rovers.
Mel: decide that I must have hire car immediately, pay through the nose to get one within the hour. Blame hormones.
A week later
Dickie: call Range Rover dealer looking for sympathy, thinly veiled as shopping for a new car. OK, maybe I’m pushing it with that one. Plan every method possible for securing new car against being stolen again & look at it as an opportunity to get a few extra toys without Mel realising.
Mel: spend hours deciding upon a name for the new car, whilst pining for Arthur. Blame hormones.
All joking aside, I would have been lost without Dickie taking care of everything over the past week, he’s been a saint and I’ve been nothing but a crying, hormonal, whinging wreck. But that said, I never realised that boys needed so much sympathy where cars were concerned! I’m pretty sure he’s now on first name terms with the policeman after how many times he’s called just to ‘check in’.