I feel terrible.
Yesterday I called the mechanic and he stated confidently that the car would be finished this morning. He was 95% sure! Since he was so sure, I took my car back from Boyfriend and drove myself to work.
The car wasn’t ready. Some screw somewhere came loose and was doing something stupid stupidly.
Boyfriend had to hustle and try and rent a car, get charged $70 for a truck he didn’t even want to drive, and be late for work. He hates being late like I hate broccoli. If he’s not 15 minutes early to work, he is late.
I feel like it’s my fault, even though I know it really isn’t. Nobody could have predicted the crack in the engine block; and yeah, hey I’m the one who got the personal loan from the bank and now am in official debt for car repair that isn’t even mine so maybe I should cut myself a little slack already!
But I’m not. I feel terrible that I didn’t just wake him up and have him drive me to work then take the bus home like I did Monday. It was fine, it took a loooooong time which I expected. But Boyfriend was nervous about me taking the bus. Which was ridiculous because I’ve taken the bus before and it was in the middle of the day when there aren’t as many crazies; but he still worried and fretted and called me to make sure I got home alright even though I texted him every time I got on a bus and when I got home.
He loves me, he frets. I love him, I fret. We might be perfect for one another.