Today I chucked a little tantrum. Not a big one, it was pretty restrained, and maybe even just ever so slightly justified, but it was a tantrum all the same. Any 2 year old would have been proud of me, I think.
For the back story, you need to know that I’ve been lusting after a new bike. I’ve found the model I want and am stashing away the cash to be able to afford it. But it’s a reasonably expensive bike (for me anyway) and the purchase date is still a little way off. So yesterday I rode my old bike home from work, and the front derailleur wasn’t selecting the midrange gears properly. It was working some of the time, but needed to be fiddled with a bit.
I mentioned this to The Man. I also mentioned that I was doing a 35k bike ride on Sunday with some friends, so if he wasn’t confident that he could make it better, I’d appreciate it if he at least didn’t make it worse. Another little back story – The Man uses the middle gear selection a lot, even when he’s going fast downhill. I use top and bottom, and middle occasionally on my way through to the others.
After a while he proudly came in and announced that he’d fixed it. It now moved smoothly and selected gears perfectly. He’d adjusted it all beautifully. I could now move easily between low and mid range.
But not top. WTF? No top gears? Yep, he was immensely proud of the fact that he’d managed to completely eliminate my ability to use the gear selection I preferred probably 80% of the time. Sure, gear shifting between the 20% gears was easier and more reliable, but absolutely no top.
I took a deep breath and calmly informed him that wasn’t quite what I wanted, and could he please very nicely put it back the way it was. At which point he told me he didn’t know what he’d done, and consequently couldn’t make it the same as it was before he started messing with it.
That was about when I locked myself in the bedroom (sans alcohol, it was in the fridge and I didn’t want to emerge into society yet) and threw my tantrum. Alone and in private, but still. I wasn’t kicking and screaming, but I was swearing at him under my breath. And apologies to all the men reading this, but I may very well have lumped all of you in with him.
I frantically tried to organise another bike. I toyed with the idea of taking it to a bike shop to fix, but we’re talking 2pm on a Saturday afternoon here, and I’m pretty sure your average bike shop wouldn’t have considered this an emergency, even if I did. Eventually I just threw my hands in the air and gave up, and posted on the Facebook group for the people I was supposed to be riding with, a terse, cranky sentence about not being able to go.
But then, he fixed it. Even now he still isn’t sure what he did, and I have to use my right hand to help push the lever because it’s pretty stiff, but I have a choice of low, medium and high gears. All of them!
So I feel bad. I apologised, and he looked at me with puppy dog eyes and pulled the line guaranteed to induce a guilt reaction in any female – “I was just trying to help!” Being the soft touch that I am I didn’t follow through on my threat to make him cook his own dinner, and I had an amazing ride along the ocean with a wonderful group of people. Breakfast (eggs, Turkish bread, fruit and coffee) wasn’t too shabby either. All in all a good outcome, but I’m pretty sure the outcome would have been the same if I hadn’t thrown my little tanty.