I Love My Car

Y’all, I owe Mack literally one point three trillion dollars.  If I’d had to buy this car without him, well, I just couldn’t have done it and I would have been crying.  His help was invaluable.

He was all making the salesman drive him around town and sitting in his chair and eating his popcorn and just basically intimidating the shit out of everyone.

I, on the other hand, was saying smooth things like, “Gosh, that Yaris is so small that a good Baptist boy like you would have to marry me after the test drive” to the salesman.

Seriously, y’all.  I seriously said that to the salesman.  This right there is the main reason I cannot be let out into the world unescorted.

Mack is using Jedi mindtricks on these guys and I’m acting like I just got let out of the nunnery.

Also, in a move of swiftness, I was put in charge of selling some items for work over the weekend and today the business manager calls me into her office and says, “What are all these dimes?”

I ask, “Wasn’t I supposed to charge them tax?  I just rounded up.”

She says, “Yeah, we don’t sell anything that costs just a dollar.”


“Ten percent of a dollar is a dime.  Ten percent of ten dollars is a dollar.”



The Down Side of Fretting

So, I laid in bed fretting about all this car shit, even though I’ve tried my damnedest to delegate the fretting to others, trying to decide if I was going to sleep or just throw up or make a list of all the shit I had to check to see if the Butcher did.

For the record, he did clean out most of the car.  He didn’t vacuum it.  He didn’t empty the console, but that meant the silver dollar my dad put in the car to keep me safe was still there, and he did get all of the glass out of the trunk and find all my Tarot cards, which I’m glad about.

I need to remember to bring both sets of keys with me.

Anyway, since I was up all night fretting, I slept through my alarm, which meant the dog did not get walked, though she got to hang out with me while I emptied out the stuff he forgot to empty.

Also, tragically, the redheaded kid’s dog has run away.  I hope he finds it.  I hate when he comes over to our house looking all depressed and scared.  On the other hand, I love that when he’s thinking, he taps his fingers together like he’s trying to catch good ideas in the cage of his hands.