Wednesday, March 29, 2006
I didn’t mention it but a few weeks ago I sold my Saturn to pay off a credit card. I felt like it was the smartest financial move I have made in a while. After all, I’m always hauling 3 kids around so I might as well use the family minivan. I don’t go into town to work at the restaurant job anymore, right? And it makes me feel close to Maggie – it was her van.
But yesterday the oil seal on Monsieur’s car melted/vaporized as he was doing 75 mph on the highway, (why do they still use oil seals? why can’t they use a more reliable sea mammal?) spraying oil into a fine mist all over the inside of his engine compartment, and causing the engine to “throw a rod,” whatever that means. Monsieur found out about it tonight from the mechanic.
He told me about it after kids’ bedtime, and said that it will be a hardship. Maggie – well I don’t want to dwell on it but she was manic depressive. When she was manic, she didn’t choose wisely in her spending decisions. When she was depressive, she didn’t want to be around the world and (I say this with all the love for her I have) the world didn’t want to be around her either.
The short story is that when she passed away, she left over $28,000 in consumer debt.
Monsieur’s primary goal right now is to get out from under that, and he sat me down at the living room table with his bills and my bills and we basically figured out that there is no room for a car payment right now. We’re going to be a one-car family out in the country for a while. His look of utter embarrassment confused me, but I think he really thought I would freak out or there would be pouting or an argument or something. And there wasn’t. I said, “well, you take me and the kids to school, and I teach and you pick us up as soon as you can. We get up a little earlier. We plan trips carefully. And, oh yeah,” I remembered, then I picked up my VISA card and a pair of scissors and cut it in two, “we all do our part.”
There was a bit of a pause and he said, “I really was more concerned with my financial situation than yours – although that is often a wise thing to do.”
“My financial situation is intertwined with yours, “ I said, thinking, Shouldn’t this be obvious? “Monsieur, I don’t want to be at this table looking at a similar mess this time next year.”
We talked a bit and he admitted to feeling bad about being under this mountain of debt, and told me of his troubles looking for additional contract work, attempting debt consolidation, talking to neighbors to see if they would be willing to take parcels of his property (they aren’t; these “gentleman ranchers” are about as cash poor as it comes).
“Don’t sell the farm,” I said, remembering my daddy’s troubles back during the 90s farm crisis.
“Oh, cherie, it is hardly a farm.”
“It’s your kids’ house. They got to live somewhere.” He looked at me. I nodded. “We’ll work it out. It’s what we do best.”
I think the thing that was really making me feel good about it all was the fact that he was not just telling me about it, but including me in on it. I was in the loop. I was part of the family, and not just a live-in nanny-with-benefits. He was looking at my bills, too, as part of the family debt. I felt like, well, like a domestic partner.
I put my hand on his knee. He looked at my hand for a minute, and then he covered my hand in his. “I have somehow felt … not as romantic … partly because of this worry,” he said.
“I can understand that. But you know, if you had no house, and no car, and you lived in a tar-paper shack out on the prairie, you’d still have me trying to put my hand on your knee.” He looked at me for a minute, and I said, “maybe even further up.” I smiled, sliding my hand even further up his leg, then resting it there.
“Are you quite sure of this whole situation?” he asked, so softly I could barely hear him.
“This whole situation?” I asked. “Well, no, I’m not sure of everything. Not the whole situation. But I’m pretty sure I’m here to stay.”
“Of that particular situation, I would be in agreement.” He moved my hand even further up. “In this particular situation, I am also … in agreement.” I smiled. I leaned over, kissed him slowly, and thus emboldened, I slid my hand up and in my hand, I cupped the thickest, fattest hard-on that my hand had ever cupped.
“Is that for me?” I said after the kiss.
“Mais oui,” he replied, “if you would deign to have it.”
I unzipped him and got him undressed, then I pulled my jammies off and straddled his waist, before he could change his mind. Kissing him sweetly, tenderly, I lowered myself onto his thick cock and made gentle love to him, muffling my moans by biting his shoulder.
So, I lost one ride. But the one I got was all good.