Jim and I have had some serious car maintenance issues lately. My beloved Honda recently reached the 100,000 mile club, and she was due some maintenance for her milestone birthday. We spent approximately $700 two weeks ago (hoses and stuff like that I think...). Last week we sent the MANLY car in for some extremely overdue tires. Another $700 in the car bucket. Today, we dropped off my car for new tires and brakes. Thank you very much Marriott rewards visa -- we can now officially stay in the Taj Mahal with the points we've racked up.All of this to return home and notice on our garage floor: the MANLY car is leaky transmission fluid. Ta-da!
There are girls out there who appreciate how their cars run, who know what thingamabob is what, and where the windshield wiper fluid goes. I do not subscribe to their club. I've always despised car maintenance and being "involved" in it. Just ask my parents. They've received many a panicked/sobbing call from a younger George in her college days when car problems struck. I just PANIC!
I'd like to think of myself as an independent woman. I know that I can take care of these things on my own. I can mow the lawn, I can use power tools, I can do home repairs, I know how to change a tire. I just don't WANT to think about that stuff.
Jim was deployed a few years ago. I was fairly new to the city and got a flat on a major interstate during morning traffic. I did not attempt to change the tire. I promptly turned off the car (to conserve gas), turned on my flashers (because that's the safe thing to do), and left my radio on (because there was a really good morning radio show on). I called my sister-in-law and her boyfriend to come and help me. In the meantime, a MO DOT road-side assistance man pulled over to assist. Who knew these guys existed?! Awesome! While he was getting all of his gear to do the tire change thingy, I started to get a little cold. So I attempted to turn on the car...yeah, it was dead. I killed the battery with the flashers and the radio. "Ahem...Mister, do you happen to have jumper cables too?"
The moral of the story: goodness, I don't really know. I just hate car maintenance. I really just want to get in my car, spend a small fortune on gas, drive away and be merry. Thank God for patient parents, accommodating husbands, and my state taxes that provide for Mo DOT workers. I would still be struggling with the whatchamacallit trying to change that tire.
3 comments:
Who could forget the smell of pancake syrup that your little red piece of crap car smelled like as we drove north on I-29 to take a visit to Brookings to get our cable set up for our dorm room. We were never sure if we would make it home on the weekends but somehow it made our adventures more "dangerous"!! love you tara
That is absolutely hilarious. I love it. I really think you would never see me again if I had a flat tire. I wouldn't know the first thing about changing one. I know you use a jack, a tire iron...I think, and then you have to somehow get the spare tire out of the car. Where's that at? I think mine is underneath the car and I have to screw something into something and then something is supposed to fall down and then the tire magically goes on the vehicle. Right?
Love ya sis,
Shana.
I laughed till I cryed Nicki! Wait till your Dad gets home and reads these! Your missing your calling Honey! You need to write books! Love, Ma
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