Things That Go Bump In The Night

It was bound to happen some time. It was destined to occur – it wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when.

For J-Fed it was a fate worse than death; he trashed his little race car. I wish I could have felt more sympathetic, but it wasn’t possible. I mean, yes it hurt to see the dollar signs go up in smoke. But it was his conscious decision as a grown man child to climb into a car, drive at high rates of speed and subject himself to bodily harm. So when he called informing me of his death-defying disaster, I wasn’t surprised.

I could already tell by the tone in his voice something wicked this way came. Last week, his transmission went while driving home from the track. The week before he needed two new sets of tires for his cars – yes, that’s the plural of car. He has to have two. Obviously, he came from the school of thought where the man with the most toys won.

Back to the call... At this point nothing that came out of J-Fed’s mouth elicited a shock and awe response from me.

“What’s up?” I said lifelessly. As baby #2 wailed her head off, I half-listened to him tell me he’d nearly been killed in a frightening one car collision. I felt bad… honestly. But having worked 10 hours straight, juggling two kids in between, cooking dinner, doing the dishes, giving baths, overseeing homework, feeding dogs, etc. while he jovially ran back and forth on the track for eight hours after a day of doing nothing, I just couldn’t summon up the emotional response he was looking for.

In fact, I was numb as he told me about how he flipped the car, shattered the brake, bumped his head, hurt his leg, etc. Sorry you’re in pain, but I don’t feel a thing. You pay, you play, I thought icily. Don’t get me wrong. I was glad he was alright. But I wasn’t going to lose any sleep over the fact that he’d torn up his toy. &*(* happens.