Shattered

So, I got in a fight with my partner and slammed the front door. The second it left my hand, I thought, "Ohhhhh, shit." The top pane of glass shattered. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He had just driven off, so he didn't see it. I called him and said "You're going to kill me, and I don't blame you, but I broke the door. Don't come home, I'll fix it."

So, I got my neighbor over here for help calling glass setters and ran all over town to cash machines and friends to borrow money (It was the end of the month, ok?) and I sure as hell didn't want to ask HIM for it.

Of course, I am due at work, and the glass people are late showing up. One of the guys, who's Greek, takes one look at the door and goes "What, did you have an argument?" I said yes. He said "You'd be surprised how often that happens. That's why we smash plates in Greece. It clears the air."

Of course, they don't have the hideous, water-patterned, 30-year-old glass that matches the BOTTOM pane, so I have them put a plain piece in. You can now see right into the house. Partner comes home and hates it, hates me. This won't do.

So, the next day, down to the home-improvement store for some privacy film. It's much more expensive than you would think, and I ask a worker for help with the measurements. In the meantime, I explain what it is for - a broken glass door pane that doesn't match the bottom pane. He says "What did you have an argument?" (Am I on fucking candid camera?) "Because you'd be surprised how often that happens."

God, I feel so much better now.