So, one of the perks to me buying a new car was Nick's chiseled-in-stone rule of "newest car parks in the garage". I live in Wisconsin. It gets cold. It snows. It frosts. I'm a wuss with cold weather. So I have to live on 5 pretzel sticks three times a day and sell my services on these suburban street corners every evening after work just to realise my goal—it's worth it for the damn spot in the garage.
You know, and at first I was all like, "No, I couldn't...it's your condo, your mortgage...the garage is yours, the end." He rescinded my termination of his garage policy and I stewed to myself that I just wouldn't park there. It was the right thing to do.
Then it got cold, and I remembered how I didn't like the cold, and how Wisconsin typically gets colder, often even below the mid-forties...and I decided to be generous and let Nick sign over his place in the garage. Sometimes I'm too nice for my own good, but what is one to do?
Last night, we stopped by the lot where today I will sign the papers enabling me to call a spicy little compact "mine". I showed Nick the equivalent to what my car will look like, as mine has been shooed away to an undisclosed location, probably for prettying up...although it really didn't need much help if I do say so myself. Nick seemed tickled for me, really excited about the car...which isn't an easy place for Nick to arrive, I'll have you know. Nick is what I call "particular". He gives honest opinions.
And, when back at home, he looked at Mazda's site and all of the configurations available for the model soon-to-be-mine. I sat in the same room, slightly dozing where I reclined only to be startled into full wakefulness with his cries of dismay. "What!?—what!?" He twisted his neck toward me with a pained expression and tells me that the car is too long and won't fit in his garage.
We'll just see about that.
