The day began with bushwacking. My daughter and took a sweaty hike through the bush.
That was great.
We went to the heritage village where I found some great material for some fresh stories about my nanny - including one on 1940’s birth control - it will drop soon!
That was wonderful too.
As the long shadows of a late summer evening stretched across the land, things went haywire. We were on our way to the barn to prep for a horse show the next day and things got a bit hectic quickly. Coming down the hill just past the hypermarket when I realized that I didn’t have any gas left in the truck.
I pressed on the brakes.
Nothing happened.
In a second, all of the trash talk about Dodge truck we just saw being dragged onto a flatbed disappeared. Friends don’t let friends drive a Dodge. Dodge trucks, extra styling to make up for a small penis.
Then there was the line I used unknowingly about my cousin’s Dodge pick-up unknowingly while talking with her father, my uncle: Who owns that giant shiny red dildo?
I pressed again. There was resistance at first and then nothing.
Shit.
You never see a thirty year old full sized Dodge truck on the road. You’ll see a fair number of Chevy’s though…
I wobbled down and got parked by Unbowlievable Lanes and went to work attempting to find a tow.
All of the tow truck drivers in the area were on vacation that day. It was as if they knew.
Eventually, my credit card managed to lure a tow from town.
Before the tow truck arrived, Laura came to rescue my daughter from being stranded.
This may have been a mistake.
The car made it twenty minutes down the road then blew a flat.
And tow trucks were difficult to find.
What’s worse, our computer plug in car didn’t have a spare. Instead, Toyota sells a car like this with a tube of goop and an inflator.
This is there so that you can get dirty and have something to do while you wait three hours for roadside assistance. We’ve had this car a year and a month and the low profile tires that came with it have had three flats so far.
So Laura and Lu couldn’t get the car fixed and there was a horse show the next day all while being stranded in a church parking lot with nosey parkers being jerks.
NOTE: if you ever com across people with pumps, jacks and spare tires, the right answer is to offer help. The wrong answer is to be xenophobic and suspicious and ask What are you looking for? in an accusatory tone. The other wrong answer is You can’t park your car there.
That one, from the dear Christ stain defending the Roman’s Cult house would have had a response from me that sounded a lot like:
You might want to shut your big mouth. I know where you live. Would be a pity if your barn caught fire…
But I’m a hot head.
Especially today.
Because the car stuff?
That’s inconvenient.
That’s not really something that would make me phobic. Maybe then there’s one to the story.
Tune in tomorrow and I’ll tell you about the Ukrainian Jewish tow truck driver then we can get really neurotic about accepting generosity and finding a good in people.