Daughter totaled her car a few months back, so we have been somewhat disadvantaged in the car department as of late.
Today, she asked to borrow what we call "my" car. I said yes.
Husband went to town and our old 1985 Mercedes ran hot, and I don't mean it looked good on the road.
Although it does.
Mr. Garage says it sounds like the thermostat, making an over-the-phone diagnosis.
So, Husband goes to crank (that's old South for start) our truck. I lovingly call this the dump truck because Husband refuses to be smart and go to the dump on a weekly basis, waiting until the truck bed is full of garbage, which it is as we speak.
It won't start.
That makes zero cars at our house that will run, and with the way my health has been lately, it ain't a real smart thing.
So, I call up Daughter and say after you have dinner at Present Boyfriend's Mama's house, come home immediately.
She wasn't happy.
Well, neither am I, it just so happens it's for two different reasons.
It will be "several" days before Mr. Garage can get to the Mercedes.
Husband hopes maybe he flooded the truck and it will start tomorrow.
Daughter will come home unhappy, but she'll come home.
Lord, I hope that girl drives carefully.
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