|Okay. I'm sure it was one of these . . .|
My Husby and I drive vintage cars.
'Vintage' is a classy name for 'old'.
Moving on . . .
Wonderful vintage cars.
They are affordable.
I can sympathize with their creaking joints and less-than-stellar performance.
And they have real engines.
Or at least engines where the components are recognizable.
But they do have their drawbacks.
They really are old.
And their parts are equally old.
At times, like me, they get . . . balky.
Allow me to illustrate . . .
We were driving a Buick.
It had developed some internal problems.
Gall bladder, I think.
Or, in car talk, an stubborn solenoid.
While we waited for the funds to actually fix said solenoid, we were reduced to a two-person starting method.
One to crawl under the car and whack the balky part with a hammer and the other to actually turn the key.
We were visiting with friends.
It was a warm summer evening.
The sky had been threatening rain all day.
Sometime during our visit, the threat became reality.
The sky opened up and dumped everything it had on us.
At the exact time we decided we should be heading home.
I took up my position in the driver's seat, key inserted and ready to turn.
My Husby quickly slipped underneath the car, hammer in hand.
“Okay! Try it!”
I turned the key and the engine roared to live.
My Husby crawled out – remember, it was pouring rain at this time – and started towards the driver's door.
Someone was laughing.
We both looked toward our friends' front door.
The two of them were silhouetted in the light from their front room.
They had watched the whole procedure.
We laughed with them.
Then my Husby shrugged and jumped into the car and we drove off.
We learned an important lesson from this.
Always choose your friends with care.
They should be fun.
And be able to laugh you through your car troubles.