grinninfoole

Here's another reason I'm glad I married Millari: she's like walking prozac. Seriously, it's like this calming influence radiates 5 squares from her. Tonight I got home a bit late, hungry (and thus crabby) and I wanted only to come inside, eat some food, and maybe finish a BSG fic I have been noodling at all summer. Because new comics day is tomorrow, I decided to clear some crap out of my minivan. Somehow, the right cargo door comes off the top track! The sliding piece just came out, which should not be possible. After several attempts to get the door back on track, I give up, storm inside, slam things around pointlessly, and seethe.

Then M comes home.

Instantly, I'm calmer, and she goes and fetches tools and lights and we try and figure out what to do. We try a couple of things, which don't work. She makes me promise not to get angry, or swear, or break stuff, and to accept that, in all likelihood, we can't fix the door.

So, after one last attempt, which fails, I give in, acknowledge her wisdom, and pack it in. Except, just because, I try to shut the door one last time, and it lurches closed.

Maybe she smoothed out the car's mood, too.

All right. It's late. Bed.