Monday, 15 March 2010

How not to make my night…

I went out to visit my MIL and SIL last night – Babcia and Silly. We had a very pleasant evening. Dear God, how old am I that my Saturday night special is spent watching TV with my in-laws?? But I did, and I drove home after midnight to find my street swarming with flashing lights – several police cars and a huge van blocking the road. Oh no, I hope everything is alright. I came closer and saw to my horror that they were outside my house. My house. Police. My children are in there…

Heart in mouth, I screeched to a halt and shouted out of the car window to ask what was going on. The police officer asked if I lived there, and told me to park my car. They were in my space so I had to try and parallel park a few houses away. While shaking. I made a hash of it, naturally, and ended up abandoning the car. To be honest, that tends to be my mode of parking anyway, so meh.

Himself stood in the door glaring at the officers in anger… he told me they’d had reports of a domestic and had questioned him quite aggressively even though he had no idea who had called and that they had made a mistake. I quirked an eyebrow and had a quick chat with the officers – who, incidentally, were perfectly lovely to me. We laughed about it, and I wished them a pleasant evening and good luck finding the correct address.

Just a misunderstanding, no harm, no foul. I really hope the poor people who did need them got the help they needed.

Himself, though, is seething. He doesn’t seem to understand that it would be normal for them to get a call, go to the address and find a man protesting innocence and exuding charm. I can totally understand them wanting to come in and check, to demand to know his wife’s whereabouts, to not take one person’s word for it and need to double check. He is furious that they thought he was lying. I think that is the way the world works, and yes it is awful to be a suspect just because of your gender but suck it up, make nice and it is over quicker. He hates it and has been in a strop ever since. Tcchhhh. Get over it.

But… would I be so quick to brush it off if I were male, and it were me?

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