Last night at about 2:00 in the morning, Mr. Squab sat straight up in bed from a dead sleep and listened vehemently. (Yes, you can listen vehemently. He did.) I was in the middle of a weird dream that I can’t remember now, so I hadn’t heard anything, but something had woken him up. It didn’t continue, though, so we went back to sleep.
This morning, when Mr. Squab went to leave for work, he discovered what the noise had been: some asshole side-swiped the car last night and took off. It’s not totalled, thank goodness, but the rear bumper is trashed, the rear driver’s side tail-light is smashed, and there are big old dents all along that side of the car. To quote Mr. Squab: goddamn sonovabitch. If it had been MY car, this would have not been a huge deal – it’s on its last legs anyway, and we’d figure, well, OK, time to get a replacement. But Mr. Squab’s car is (was?) supposed to last us a good bit longer. Since we only have liability insurance, any repairs will be out of our pocket, and you know how expensive bodywork gets. So: Yay! Good Times!
On a positive note, it’s tech week this week for my show, and things are coming together so smoothly (knock wood) that we’re all kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop. (For those of you unacquainted with the world of teensy budget professional theatre, tech week usually equals extreme stress and aggravation.) I guess if I had to choose, I’d kind of rather deal with a broken car than a broken show (sorry, Mr. Squab), so I’m feeling pretty good. Er … I mean, DAMMIT, FATE! YOU GOT ME AGAIN! I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! PLEEEEEEEEEASE DON’T THROW ME IN THAT BRIAR PATCH!
Right. Jinx averted. Coming soon: my review of 300, aka the WORST movie I’ve seen in living memory. Oy.