This is one of those things were I make something out of nothing because The Boy, in his own right, made something out of nothing. Yay.

A couple of weeks ago, I met The Boy for dinner at the Italian place Ultra is always raving about.

Since it’s close to my office, I got there first. There were two parking options available at the time: six dollars or free. No one will ever be able to honestly accuse me of being a miser, but when faced with spending six dollars for a place to rest my car for a couple of hours when I could do the same thing across the street for absolutely nothing, I went with the free option.

Apparently, lots of other people shared my logic and the ‘free’ lot was rather full. I circled the designated area and fortunately spied two available spaces. One was kind of in the middle and one was at the very, very farthest corner of the underground lot.

I guess I’m both cheap and lazy because I automatically went for the one closer to the restaurant, even though it was less-than-ideal as far as good designated parking spots go. A portion of the so-called empty space was being taken up by the car that had been pulled into the next slot because that car’s driver parked it like Stevie Wonder at the wheel of a Winnebago. I didn’t think it would matter as long as I had enough room to fully pull the Monarchmobile in, even if I had to compensate for the crooked parking next door by likewise parking at an angle. Honestly, no harm, no foul.

The owner of the car on the other side had adequate room to enter their SUV and the slanted car would be able to pull away without taking any of my car’s paint with it. It made sense to me, but I should’ve already learned that nothing could ever be so simple.

The Boy’s ETA had about twenty minutes or so to go, so I went ahead, got our table, ordered a rather tasty pomegranate something-or-other and took in the surroundings. It’s a nice place. There wasn’t a screaming child or arcade game in sight and the tablecloths were real fabric. It doesn’t take a lot to impress me, obviously.

When The Boy got there, he skipped the traditional greeting of “Hey,” or some variant thereof and just asked me to give him my keys. I thought he must’ve needed to get something out of my car, so I handed them over and waited for him to get back. Suffice to say, I had no idea what I was setting myself up for.

He came back to the table and it was relatively smooth sailing all the way. Dinner was as good as Ultra promised it would be. The Boy and I had one of our customary very good conversations and there was leftover pasta, which is never a bad thing.

After paying the check, we walked to the parking garage together and I saw exactly why The Boy wanted my keys. He re-parked my car.

It can be said again: He re-parked my car.

By the time The Boy arrived for our dinner date, the tardwad in the Subaru had already fled the scene, taking his terrible parking with him and leaving me looking like the dumbass who couldn’t navigate between the lines. I wouldn’t consider such a thing to be the end of the world, but it was clearly something The Boy (and his undiagnosed OCD) could not possibly live with at all. The very sight of my slanted car was like a beacon to him…sort of like the Bat Signal, and he jumped to action. Fear not humble citizens! Absurdly Organized Man is here to save the day!

I wasn’t exactly angry but I wasn’t exactly amused; I’m still not.

I kind of took it as nonverbal criticism, as if he was saying I couldn’t be trusted to do something as benign as parking a car and my unsophisticated attempt to do so, was done so terribly that he had to correct it to stave off terrible consequences. He didn’t say that aloud, but I can’t help what I heard.

Also, he moved my seat all the way back so, when I got in, I felt like a midget. If he’d changed my radio station I would’ve probably put his left eye out.

Because I felt criticized, I felt like I had to explain that I had to park the wrong way; the other driver made me do it. This, of course, meant I felt like a retard for feeling like I needed to justify my actions. The Boy said it wasn’t a “big deal,” he just saw the way it was parked and thought it would be worthwhile to fix it.

Call me Sally, but I’d say any time you find yourself compelled to move someone else’s car so that it’s parked more to your personal liking, it is definitely a big-effing-deal and probably warrants a CT scan. I said as much to The Boy and he gave me that look if his that seems to be a joint venture between Amazement and Violent Confusion.

With the way things were going, I could feel a war coming on, so I just shut up and let it go because I didn’t want to spend the rest of the night squabbling over something so ridiculous…that’s what blogging is for.

One thing is for sure: $6 or no, next time we are so getting separate parking lots.