If It Has Tires...........................

"If It Has Tits Or Tires It Will Give You Trouble."

We've all seen that t-shirt/bumper sticker/helmet sticker, right?

Well, no offense to the fellas, and just speaking of the only remaining "pair" in my house:

"If It Has Testicles Or Tires It Will Give ME Trouble."

When the front driver's side window on my car decided to retire, with an awful rumbling sound as I was trying to get it to go down, I flashed on heavy seas ahead.      I was lucky to get it back up in case of rain, and there just hadn't been a good time to tell T-Bird.       Especially since he had had a devil of a time with the same window on HIS truck.

I was waiting for a better time.................

Then a brake light started coming on.      Not when I would hit the brakes, mind you, but when I made a turn, or changed radio stations, or just whenever it took a notion.

I reported it to my Resident Mechanic.

"Does the car stop?"

"Well, yeah, but....."

"Don't worry about it, and drive the thing."

The silly car started making a strange sound on the way home for lunch.      There is no way to duplicate that sound with a keyboard, but it sounded like it was suckin' or blowin' air.......somewhere.........who knows!??

I reported it to The Resident Mechanic Who Is Now Way Behind With His Mechanic-ing.      Complete with sound effects.

"Are you havin' trouble gettin' it to run?"

"No, it runs, but.............."

"Then don't worry about it, it's fine."

Five blocks from the house, The Grannymobile showed me that it was in no way "fine".

The power steering went out, and I had to turn around and strong-arm that ragged piece of junk back to the house.        I was That Crazy White Woman Who Was Kickin' And Cussin' At Her Ride At Lunch.        I put on a small show in my driveway.        I couldn't help it, and didn't care.

T-Bird had taken his motorcycle back to work, so I took HIS truck.

Sometimes you have to be creative to get things done.

When the sink developed a drip that threatened my sanity, I wrote HONDA on a piece of paper and taped it to the sink.       In plain sight.       Bear in mind that he had worked on every single motorcycle in this county but I couldn't get him NEAR the kitchen sink with tools.

"What the Hell is this?" he asks.

"I figured if it said Honda on it somewhere I could get that drip fixed."

Yeah, I'm a bitch, but it worked!       And the sink was repaired.

So that fateful afternoon when he got home I was waiting in the yard.    Armed and ready.

"Whooo-weeee! That truck is one fast sumbitch!       I stomped it and it took off like Moody's Goose!"

He looks at me and says "If you kick it, it WILL get sideways with you."

He's lookin' at me with THAT look.       The look that says he is in fear for his truck, which is what I was shootin' for in the first place.    It wouldn't be the first vehicle of his that I have wrecked.    I have a Spousal Record.

"That's how I wound up in the ditch, but I just stomped it again and she came right out!   I got all the weeds pulled out from under it, and it's fine."

He's trying to look for damage without being too obvious, and it's obvious to me that the plot has been successful.

Forty-five minutes and $12.00 later, my car is fixed.

If I have any real trouble out of the brakes, I'll take out the mailbox.