I was just thinking the other day that I hadn't had any humiliating stories to tell lately. I should've known better, because now I've got a good one.
I took the car to the gas station yesterday and -- listening to my bickering children -- was a little distracted as I fueled up. The pump clicked off, I put the nozzle back and realized, with a sudden chill of horror, that I had just put GAS in my car. My DIESEL car. Merde.
I don't know much about cars, but I know that isn't good. So I had to go back in to the gas station and explain to the attendants what I'd done. They were very nice. They helped me call the local auto club (thank goodness I joined!), pushed my car to the parking lot, and gave my children lollipops while we waited.
Kate had had her Christmas play that afternoon and was in full makeup (she was a doll). In trying to explain the makeup, I inadvertently told the attendant Kate had had cancer that morning. Christmas cancer, to be exact. In my defense, concert and cancer sound really similar in French. Maybe that's why they got lollipops? No, I think I clarified. More humiliation...
The auto club towed my car to the local Toyota dealership and left it there to be repaired in the morning. The kids and I took the bus to school this morning, a friend drove me to the airport to rent a car (got one of the last ones in Luxembourg!), and we hope to have our car back tomorrow. Let's just not think about how much this little error will cost.
Of course, there is some good news:
• I will be extra, extra careful to choose the right fuel from now on
• We now know how to take the bus to school
• I am perfectly proficient at explaining that I am an idiot in two languages!