John fixed the handle on the door yesterday. Not the door to the house - that still locks me out every third time I leave. But it's summer, so I don't mind much. Plus it has made me pretty creative at breaking and entering.
No, he fixed the handle of the passenger door of his truck. And while it will be nice to let myself out whenever I need to, part of me is going to miss waiting for him to walk around and open the door for me.
And it benefited him - he'd get major chivalry points from on-lookers every time we'd go to town; women were wishing their guys would be more like him, not realizing all they needed was a crappy old truck with a broken door handle.
Even if it wasn't real, I felt special. And he did only forget me one, maybe two times over the past several months of riding together; I'm sure there are times he wanted to "forget" me, but he didn't - he always let me out, no matter how much of a perceived (or actual) pain I was being.
Now it's fixed. And while he may have fixed it out of concern of someday having to open the door for a guy who had to ride with him, (which would start a whole new conversation around town), I think he mostly fixed it for me. Door handle and independence restored.
People say sometimes it takes not having the big stuff to appreciate the small, but I think sometimes it takes not having the small to appreciate the big.
Clearly a completely different handle, but far more visually appealing than the handle of a crappy old truck (in my opinion, anyway ;) )
