He's Not A Trucker

We delayed our actual big, truck-renting moving day until Sunday because of the Ice Storm of the Century that never materialized. I cannot express, after over a FULL YEAR of going back and forth between two apartments, how badly I wanted to get this consolidation thing DONE.
The FI-ance suggested, originally, a 24 foot U-Haul. So, that's what I got. Sunday morning, running behind schedule already, we go to pick it up and his face blanches.

"I...I think this may be too much truck for me. I mean, I've never driven that much truck before. That...that's BIG."

I stared at him from inside the truck, where I was checking the starting miles and fuel level. Internet, I do believe you know me well enough to guess my feelings on this.

"What? Listen, I'm sorry, but I need a smaller truck. Would you rather have me drive something I'm almost sure I can't handle? That's a lotta truck to be responsible for. And I'm not even sure that would fit into your parking lot and around those turns; all that's kinda small."

I know it's unreasonable, internet, but I was livid. So mad I could barely speak. So angered that I almost started crying. I just wanted to get this shit over with and he was breaking the flow.

I did get a smaller truck. A 17 footer to be exact, and I thank the SWEETBABYJESUS for that. As it was the FI-ance: ran into a stop sign, knocked over a street sign, drove onto at least 2 sidewalks and scraped off half of a wheel well while running over curbs.

I'm so glad he convinced me to get that insurance at the rental place.