Puncture Day!

On a quick trip to the grocery store today, I picked up a nice fresh sub sandwich as a treat for my husband since we'd had nothing appetizing for him to make for lunch the night before. We got chatting with the deli employee and our conversation went exactly like this:

Deli Lady referencing the kids: 'I just LOVE their red hair'

Smiling, as I often do in response to the same statement from many people I say: 'Thanks'

Deli Lady: 'your kids really are adorable, so beautiful - they have such gorgeous eyes'

Me, smiling again 'Thank you'

Deli Lady: 'wow, they must look like their Dad, huh?'

O.U.C.H!!!!! My punctured ego!


After leaving the grocery store we headed straight for my husband's work to deliver his sandwich. A few miles down the road I hear the tell tale 'f-dump, f-dump, f-dump' accompanied by a loud BANG!

Oh, my punctured tire!

(It's really a tyre you know, but we'll not quibble about it now.)

A call to my husband brought out the Knight in Shining Armour in him and in minutes he came galloping on his trusty steed (okay, he trundled along in his ten year old Ford Ranger. Whatever.) and he rescued this Damsel in Distress.

(How is it that men know exactly where the jack is, how to get the spare out and can heft a Ford Expedition off the ground to change a tyre tire in a jiffy?) (I didn't even know where the spare was! Oh yeah, I'm such a self sufficient modern woman, huh?)

Pleased with his stellar job and proud of his Super Dad status, hubs said goodbye to the kids and I and we started up our respective vehicles.

Ahem.

I attempted to start up mine but the heap of junk, car wouldn't co-operate. Thankfully hubs witnessed the car in all it's petulance and trundled off in search of jump leads (because you know I'm not smart enough to carry my own, right? - nor him apparently).

He got us started a few minutes later and we were on our way home, on a wing and not a few prayers. My car is 5 years old and has very low miles - it's not a clunker by any means, but it sure felt like it today.

Diagnosis on inspection this evening is I needed a new battery and the tire can't be fixed.

NO!!! My punctured wallet!

Please let this be it for now - my husband is going to Ireland next week for a week. I don't know any more Knights to call in his absence!

Mean is Mean is Mean!

Driving towards school the other morning I got rather irate at an elderly driver in front of me.

Ever mindful that I have two little parrots kids in the back I try to keep my verbal abuse of other road users to an absolute minimum.

Understand though that we are in mid December - the season of Snowbirds. So my patience is tried on a much more regular basis than it would be say from April through October.

If you are a Snowbird reading this, or your parents or grandparents come fly south to Florida for the winter - let me give a friendly suggestion. Advanced driving courses, a map of the local area, or at the very least, the absolute minimum - a quick scan over your vehicle's owner's manual to reacquaint yourself with the turn signal - just sayin'.

Anyway - this other morning I was particularly frustrated at the slow egress through a left hand turn (with lights LONG in his favour) of an elderly driver in front of me.

Trying to keep Miss E from understanding what I am saying at these times - I generally revert to a rather exaggerated version of my local accent - Norn Iron Spake as it is known. I uttered the words

'G'on ye bye yeh'

in order to will the driver in front to discover the gas pedal and apply it accordingly.

Immediately Miss E pipes up from the back 'Mommy, why are you being so mean to that man?'

Apparently mean is just mean, whatever the dialect.

Suitably admonished I now try to keep my dislike for others' driving habits in check. My tongue and inner cheek are suffering terribly though!