Most days are pretty tranquil. The cats get me up an hour before I need to be up, I feed them, I drink coffee in the hot tub then go inside and knit. I shower, get dressed, and go to the shop. Tranquil. Peaceful.
Some days...not so much.
A couple of Thursdays ago I went through the same basic routine described above. Except for the fact that Midget, my designated alarm cat, decided 4:30 was a good time to have breakfast. In case you were wondering, there is no snooze button on a hungry cat. So I got up and began my day, taking advantage of the extra time before I had to leave the house to spend some bonus time in the hot tub. And for this the gods of daily routine decided to punish me.
Everything went fine until it was time to leave. I opened the garage door, started the car, and tried to back out of the garage. The Envoy did not want to move; then I noticed the left front corner sitting a bit low. A lot low, actually. I got out to look, and lo and behold, I have a flat tire. Not just a soft tire - a "flatter than a duck's instep" tire. So I went upstairs, told my husband and asked if I could take his PT Cruiser and would he please put the spare on my truck? I took the Envoy key off my key chain to leave it with him, got in his car and left.
I was only running a couple minutes late, but that isn't a big deal. As I was driving up Cleveland - heading into the sun - I had to stop at a traffic light and decided to use the windshield washers (my husband isn't a big fan of clean windows). It was cold out - about 21 degrees - but that is why washer fluid is designed not to readily freeze. I squirt the bug juice onto the windshield, the wipers start moving....and only the very tips of each wiper are making contact with the glass, leaving several ounces of foamy bug juice on the windshield. Did I mention I was heading into the sun?
Isn't that special?
I continued on to work, periodically turning on the wipers in the hope that the defroster would have warmed them up enough that they would actually make contact with the windshield, but no, that did not happen. The bug juice eventually dried, leaving a lovely film on the glass, but by then I was no longer headed east. Oh well, I say to myself - I'll stop at a gas station on the way home and wash the windshield there.
The day went on without incident (and without much business) and I headed home. By then the sun had warmed up enough that the wipers were working properly, and I could actually see out the windshield. I decided that I would be a nice wife and take my husband's car to get an oil change and a wash. When they checked the tire pressure at the oil change place they discovered there were 80 pounds of air in each tire. Which explains the buckboard-like ride I had been enduring. (Never mind how that happened.)
Our garage door opener had been acting up for a few weeks - it worked just fine if one used a remote, but the button on the garage wall to operate it had not been working at all. This was normally not a problem for me - I simply hit the remote in my Envoy. Bob's car, however, does not get parked in the garage. While the remote in his car will open the garage door, closing it became problematic due to the faulty wall switch. So I pulled into my driveway and decided to let myself in through the front door. I locked Bob's car, the horn gave that annoying beep, and headed for the front door.
The front door frame had been replaced just before Christmas resulting in a very tight fit. I couldn't get the blighter opened. Everything now fits so snugly and we use the front door so seldom, that my arthritic hands couldn't turn the key in the deadbolt lock. So back to Bob's car I go; I unlocked it, hit the remote for the garage door, locked the car again (out of habit), it beeped again, and I went inside. But now I can't close the garage door.
I went to the front door and unlocked it, let myself outside and unlocked Bob's car. I hit the remote to close the garage door, locked his car again, it beeped again, and I went back inside through the front door. The chronic beeping of the horn had called my neighbors' attention to the bizarre Chinese fire drill going in in my driveway. I really ought to charge these people for the entertainment, but they were decent enough not to laugh while I could hear them.
The next day I took my tire to Avenue Automotive and got it fixed in a matter of minutes - a large machine screw had been the culprit. All was once again right with the world - Bob is driving his car, I am driving my car, and now the wall switch for the remote is fixed. My dignity is only slightly damaged.
Purls of wisdom: some days it doesn't pay to chew through the leather restraints.
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