My poor truck Buttercup got sick this weekend.  She had a very high fever on the way down to Richmond.  And some lying bastards threatened to tear out her heart, all for the want of filthy lucre.  Instead we had her taken back home to rest for a while, and then took her to her regular shop.  Scott, smartypants that he is, watched the jerks as they supposedly tested the possible causes of overheating: he saw jerk number one pour some water into the coolant overflow reservoir and then all over the place, and then walk inside and mutter something to jerk number two, who then said to me: "Blown head-gasket.  You’ll need to replace the engine."  Um, no pressure test?  Riiiiiight–have my wallet–would you like my house, too?

All she needed was a thermostat.  Rationally, I knew that.  But I lost rational for a little while there.  The jerks will be hearing from the Better Business Bureau.  It is not OK to insist that someone replace a perfectly good engine or to invent imaginary head-gasket cracks.  I freaked out for a while there, but knitting on Rose and drinking adult beverages with my friends calmed me right down again.  I apparently said some funny things, most of which are not appropriate for public disclosure.  Just, um, please don’t write any of that mess on my tombstone when the time comes, ok?

Thankfully, the car trouble did not keep us away from the wedding.  Some masterful cell-phone crisis-management got us in touch with several of the fast-thinking folks going our direction.  Sure enough, Mike and Tara were about an hour behind us on the road, so we all got to the wedding on time and had a blast.  Mandy looked so beautiful, the ceremony was lovely, the food was great, and the company unbeatable.  I know I have great friends, but I am touched every single time my great friends band together to help each other, and we are darn fortunate that they are so quick to band together to help us: we had one offer after another to get us to the hotel, get us home on Sunday, get us some nice drinks, rough up anyone who may or may not be responsible–all that good stuff.  We rode home with a gaggle of our pals on Sunday, and yesterday I waited on Buttercup while she got fixed up right.  It was an expensive repair, but I was happy to give the money to some honest mechanics. 

I had a loaner minivan for a few hours there, and I am now truly convinced that I need a vehicle the size of a Manhattan apartment with furniture that folds into the floor.  It’s a good thing that it’s relatively hard to trade in one car for another, shinier, larger, newer, more expensive replacement.  Car payments are bad.  Car payments are bad.  Can I please have a Sienna for free?  No?  Ok.  Cuz car payments are bad. 

Right, so I will follow through on the requests to merge the blogs and to make bridies for the bridie-heads.  Bridies for Samhain!  What a campaign slogan.  I will also–gasp–take some pictures of the knitting and the tile-work.  The kitchen floor is more than halfway done, which is pretty good considering how little we’ve been at home. 

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