How a real tree tried to kill me.

Bill just got our 3 cars out of the shop last week to the tune of " more money than ..." I usually stop listening because his metaphors confuse me.  He likes to make sure everything is in working order before any trips.  Or because he gets bored.  I'm not sure.  When we dropped off the van the mechanic asked me if there was anything new he should be looking or listening for and I said it's been running great ---- especially when it ran into the garage.  Bill was not smiling. Neither was the mechanic.  Tough room. 



Upcoming arguement in December.



In preparation of our upcoming trip I decided to actually clean my car out for the first time in forever.  Plus I find all the pine needles from our Christmas tree rather distracting because I start counting the days until I have to get another real tree.  Another arguement for another time.    Halfway through the vacuuming mission the front seats stopped working.  Both of them . At the same time.  Crap.  At first I thought maybe I had drained the battery from my intensive prolonged vacuuming agenda and having all the lights on and doors open.  I get rather OCD about getting every speck of dirt which is kinda weird since it's June and pine needles are still staring at me.    Usually I don't panic so quickly until I've exhausted every conceivable avenue that I can think of to fix it.  Which  consisted of screaming swear words at the seats and then begging them to move.  Two of my more  reliable methods. I actually did google fuse box in van and saw that it was under the hood and although I know how to pop the hood open I hate trying to find the little kick-stand thingy to hold it up and then there's all those metric wrenches which my mom once protested against in middle school as a communist plot.  True story.   But seeing that we were leaving in 2 days my panic mushroomed into terror in a matter of seconds.  Mostly because this shit always happens when I'm trying to be helpful , backfiring into "what the hell were you thinking?" 

I quickly texted a couple of my more understanding married friends for their support in the world of husbands that think you get up and actually plot to destroy their crap.  I was advised to just go ahead and say I did it on purpose.  And so I did.  By sending a group text to my entire family ( Bill at work, Andrew at work with Bill, Katie in Knoxville) that said this:

Dear Family, I've broken both the front seats in my car on purpose.  Because you'll think I did anyway.  Now neither of the front seats work.  The passenger seat is jammed against the glove compartment.  The driver's seat is in the back of the van.  To drive to the garage to have it looked at I'll have to tape shoe boxes to my feet and sit on three pillows and have a midget ride shotgun.  Which of course I planned this morning while you were all sleeping.    How do we feel about train travel?   Love Mom, the destroyer of all other people's crap.

P.S.- on the plus side I found a Bonefish Grill Gift Card.  Martini Lunch!

Bill loves getting texts like this from me.  I can tell because he types so fast to answer back it looks like this " *&$#@^".  He's so thoughtful.   

Andrew was the first to arrive home.  Laughing.  and plotting his escape. 

Katie texted a sad face.  : (   or she was distracted and never finished her parenthesis thought.

Bill pulled into the driveway and asked the following questions.

What were you doing? What did you touch? Why did you move the seats so far?  
I thought my text was pretty self explanatory.  Guess not.

While "my" car went back into the shop my son loaned me "his" car.  I use quotes because technically Bill's name is on everything.  So you can see it's nearly impossible to break my own shit.  I ran an errand and upon getting back into "Andrew's" car the visor fell off and pieces flew everywhere.  I'm pretty sure no one is going to believe this so I mass text my family again.  Although I had a hard time seeing what I was texting through the mascara in my eyes.  It said this:

"Omg- I got in Andrew's car and the visor fell down and I can't find the ****** pieces" ( I used bad language - on purpose to show how distraught I was over this most unfortunate and ironic turn of events.) 

Andrew texted back immediately.  Good to know what elicits an immediate response.  "Where are you?"

This may have been the text that got me in so much trouble.  " And I'm laughing so hard I can't see. In the parking lot at Patton Computer."   Honesty sucks at being the best policy , so is Laugh and the world laughs with you. 

When I got home after wiping my eyes clear on my shirt and finally finding the visor pieces, one in the passenger door side pocket and the other UNDER the floor mat in the back seat.  Really.  And I still had to drive with one hand holding up the visor.  Bill was not amused.  Mostly because I was. 

"My" car was having it's own hysterical breakdown. Another visit to the shop and trying to replace the fuses and having them repeatedly melt/blow/break they removed the seats and found that under the passenger side the wires had gotten pinched and were shorting out because the motor was stuck on "on".  When Bill told me this I naturally said " Wow , good thing they found it or the car would have caught on fire" .  I always think the car will catch on fire. 

Then we argued about the meaning and purpose of a fuse for half an hour. And who paid attention in physics class which turned out not to be me.  Even though I pointed out the definition of a short fuse showing him a mirror.  This didn't really prove my point.  Which by this time I'd forgotten if I was pro-fuse or anti-fuse.

Today I got in the car and the lights acted funny. Not ha-ha funny.   Thank God I have unlimited texting.