This past Thursday night I was eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Hubster who had been out of town all week on business.
Hubster: I'm not coming home tonight. My $#%* car broke down! @$%&! $%#%!!!
(I should clarify here that he did not ACTUALLY utter any foul language. It was simply unintelligible sounds of frustration. But we all know what he was thinking, right?)
Me: Huh? Where are you?
Hubster: Hampton Inn in Russellville. %$^&!!! &*#%!!! This is going to be expensive. The right front wheel is smoking.
Me: Well, did you put it out?!
(At this point I'm envisioning that scene from Planes, Trains and Automobiles with John Candy and Steve Martin. Oh, John Candy, how I miss your wacky humor! )
The rest of the conversation basically involved discussions of Cash for Clunkers and other similar fates that Hubster wished upon his poor vehicle.
Fast-forward to Friday morning.
Hubster: Well, come and get me. It's gonna cost %@# $750 to fix.
Me: So what's the deal?
Hubster: The mechanic said my balls melted.
Hubster: Bearings, ball BEARINGS!
Me: (continued hysterical laughter) Are you sure you don't need some ointment for that?!
The plan was for me to drop the kiddos off at school and drive to Russellville and pick up the Hubster and rent a tow-dolly and bring that sucker home because we have a smart friend, Mr. RascalRaiser, who excels at all things engineerical.
I made a small detour in LR for Krispy Kremes to drown our sorrow in and eventually made my way to Russellville, still snickering and guffawing.
Upon my arrival at the Goodyear place, Hubster walks out to greet me and we realize we are both wearing the SAME t-shirt. Could we look any more ridiculous? (The cashier at Burger Boy assured us we were very cute. Oh, good.)
So we scurried down to the local U-Haul rental office and rented a tow dolly from a rather shifty character who informed us that our Tahoe wasn't rated to pull that much weight but he thought Hubster could handle it. His confidence in Hubster's ability and Chevrolet's craftsmanship was inspiring.
We proceed to load the $%^# Expedition onto said tow dolly and found that the front tire was perched on top of the dolly's wheel well. We figured this was probably not acceptable for transporting so we returned said dolly to the shifty character who most helpfully located a larger trailer at another U-Haul location. I say 'helpfully' because our Tahoe still wasn't rated to pull an Expedition so he put in the system that we were driving a Silverado 3500. Well, it IS a Chevy. At this point, I asked the question "So what happens when we show up with a Tahoe instead of a Silverado?" I was shushed.
We drove over to pick up the larger trailer and guess what?
Yep, THIS dude was doing his job and wouldn't let us rent it because my Tahoe isn't rated for it. But I'm not one to say "I told you so."
But I did.
So we finally accepted that there wasn't a way to get the %$^& Expedition home and sucked it up and told Goodyear to go ahead and fix it. And then we told the kids that they wouldn't be able to go to college.
Actually, by this point we were not going to make it in time to pick up the kids from school. Hubster managed to find various and sundry friends to take care of our children for us as we drove home in silence. Occasionally, the silence was broken by uncontrolled giggling on my part.
Long story short, Hubster managed to find a friend with a GINORMOUS trailer and another friend with a GINORMOUS pickup and the %$&* Expedition finally made it's way home on Saturday. Smart friend says he can get us the parts for about $200 and he and Hubster can fix it themselves. We love our smart friend.
(Smart friend had already agreed to replace the radiator. And all of this is AFTER my dog tried to eat him. He's a true friend, is all I can say.)
Fast-forward to Monday afternoon.
I backed my Tahoe into a car in the parking lot at the Health Club.
See? I KNEW I hated gyms.
Fast forward to Tuesday.
(Note: Hubster is driving our 'back-up' vehicle, an old Mitsubishi Montero.)
(phone vibrates indicating I have received a text message.)
Hubster: AC and alternator belts broken. At Firestone this time.
Me: Makes sense.
It is US after all. What else did you expect?
I still think it might be an evil, progressive plot trying unsuccessfully to lure us into Cash for Clunkers.