This confession will set feminist ideals back decades as I'm about to grossly contribute much ammunition to the arsenal of those who complain about "women drivers." Please forgive me ahead of time.
Once upon a time, a beautiful twentysomething woman was gainfully employed as a Business Analyst for a company that paid her real, actual money! This company did not require her to change diapers, wake up at ungodly hours of the night to attend to small human life forms, clean up vomit, engage in conversations about imaginary friends, volunteer at elementary school functions, or clean the crust off of infected pierced ears. Plus, the company had an awesome coffee maker with more varieties of K-cups than you could ever imagine!!! It was a sweet gig.
The only downfall of this gig came in the form of a mandatory start time of 8 a.m. in a locale that was nearly 40 minutes away from the the lovely twentysomething's home. She was, and is, in fact, not a morning person.
On the fateful morning of "the incident," the twentysomething groggily entered her vehicle - which was parked in the garage - convinced that she had used the keypad on the wall to open the garage door. She had, in fact, not, and proceeded to back her car into the garage door with a phenomenal crash.
The woman and her husband had words.
The woman's husband and her father banged the dents out of the door with rubber mallets several days later and managed to salvage it.
But that wasn't the end of the story.
The same thing happened several months later. Yes. You read that correctly. It happened a second time. This time, no words were exchanged. Her husband demanded that she leave for work and not contact him for several hours while he calmed down.
Miraculously, the door was salvaged again. And now, whenever the temperature cools to near freezing, the door stops working properly and requires a little extra assistance as it slowly groans its way up the track.