A friend sent me a book called wife of the north. It was a lovely, unexpected gift out of the blue, and I am enjoying it a lot.
It is about a woman's move to the country, against her nature and wishes, and her life with three little children and a partner that works away from home often.
This book is so relateable, so deeply so, that I feel foolish even writing about my life, now, it is as if someone else have written it, only better, with less petty melodrama and angst.
One of the things she describes feeling frustrated about is that her husband frequently runs the car out of gas, leaving her in the lurch with the children in a dead car.
It happens all too often around here.
My husband drives his tiny clown car to work, in a neighboring town, all week.
Then on the weekend he will drive the "family car", and come Monday morning as I am dashing around late for work, I will be damned if the car's gas light doesn't come on.
Since I work very early in the morning, and since I CANNOT BE LATE, I have to risk it and drive on to the babysitter, and to work, all the while worrying if I will run out of gas.
I am a very big worrier, and I don't really need additional real things to worry about, I have plenty of imaginary troubles, thank you.
It makes me INSANE. I hate it so much, I seethe for hours, afterward.
It is something I would never do, which I think is the primary reason for my anger.
My husband is a very sweet person. He has many great and good points. He endures all of my "quirks" with grace, if I ever need something edited, or say a snappy response to an insult- he is the man, but he is not one of those car guys, or fixers that changes your oil, air filter or even thinks to put gas in the blasted car.
Neither am I, so it is one of the weaker area's of our relationship. Along with home repairs, and lawn maintenance.