Seriously, the small cars, they do not win the battles with the trucks

Two Fridays ago, The Husband was in a minor car accident. He rear-ended his father. And even though he was traveling at less than 10 mph, the front end of his 2000 Saturn SL is now all smooshed and is in all likelihood totaled, while his father’s Dodge Ram 1500 sustained a slight dent to the bumper.

But that’s not the point. The point is that, because my father-in-law is a wonderful, generous guy, he has loaned us the truck until we get The Husband’s Saturn (or possibly a different car, depending on how expensive the repairs turn out to be) back. Yes, he loaned us the very same truck that The Husband rear-ended. The Husband has been driving the truck to and from work because I hate driving that huge thing, and also because his commute is 30 miles shorter than mine, so in terms of gas conservation, it makes infinitely more sense. But last Wednesday, my father-in-law asked me if I could drive it to work because he had an appointment to get the bumper replaced. (My in-laws live in the same city that I work in.) He said I should just park it in the lot, and he’d swing by and pick it up during the day. Then, when I was ready to go home, I should just call and he’d come back with it.

I should also that my mother-in-law kindly offered to wash some laundry for us because we are currently unable to use our fabulous washing machine, what with it sitting in the middle of the kitchen for the past 8 weeks and all. So I left a load of laundry in the back of the truck for my father-in-law to pick up.

At the end of the day, I called my father-in-law to let him know I was ready to go home, and 10 minutes later met him in the parking lot. He was alone. “Where’s the other car?” I asked, because I had assumed that my mother-in-law would be there to drive him back home.

“Your mother-in-law still has it at the vet,” he said, while getting out of the truck. “She’ll pick me up when she’s done. Oh, and here’s your clean laundry, all folded.”

So, let’s recap. My father-in-law fully expected me to get in the truck that he was lending us because my husband’s car was in the shop thanks to rear-ending that very truck, take my clean laundry which my mother-in-law had washed and folded, and drive away, leaving him to wait, alone, in the parking lot for a ride. And he would have thought none the worse of me for doing so.

“OK, bye!” I said, and drove off.

No, not really. I drove him home. Even though it added 20 minutes to my commute. Yes, yes, thank you. Submissions nominating me for sainthood can be sent to the Vatican after I’m dead.