My 13-year-old self can't help it. Really. I know before I open my mouth that it's something I shouldn't speak out loud. But I do it anyway.
Returning from CasinoPalooza 3, I rode back home for 5 hours with The Pony in his little Nissan Rogue. It's a 2013 model, and was in great shape when we bought it. Low miles. No problems. When we visited in September, Hick had four new tires put on it. So we were a little surprised when The Pony texted, upon departure from OU Saturday morning, to meet us near Joplin, that he had to put air in his tires. Not that fact, because tires slowly lose air. But this:
"Had to air up a tire, will keep you posted on if it goes flat again."
"Okay. How low was it?"
Let me tell you, I was pretty incensed that we had spent good money to get The Pony a set of brand new tires AT WALMART, and now one was flat. I swear, he only drives it once a week, to Midwest City, for a lunch at Steak N Shake. That's about a 40 mile round trip. Sure, there could be road hazards like nails, but The Pony doesn't even have a parking permit for OU. He takes the shuttle from his apartment complex. So he NEVER drives. Maybe to the store on Fridays, but he alternates rides with his Bestie for that.
Of course, being The Pony, his idea of FLAT is somewhat different from that of ours, as experienced drivers.
"26ish. The others read 29ish or so. I think part of it is the cold."
"Okay. That's not bad. They should have 32, Dad says."
"Yeah. I'll check on them again after I drive for an hour or so, and get them all to 32 if they're not."
So...we didn't worry any more about the tires. T-Hoe needs 35 psi in his tires, and I've driven to town on 24 to get air.
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Anyhoo...we had just passed Joplin, about 15 minutes into our drive back home on Monday, when The Pony noticed a crack in his windshield!
"Where did THAT come from? I swear it wasn't there when I left. This is the first I've seen of it."
"Well, your car sits on your parking lot most of the time. Then you get in on a cold morning like this, and as the car heats up or you run the defroster, any little chip can turn into a crack. Mine has done it before. Probably, by the time we get home, that crack will be all the way across. No big deal. We'll get the windshield replaced."
"I don't even want to hear Dad blaming me for it! I had no idea."
"Dad isn't going to blame you for it. It's not something you did! A rock hit it, and left a chip, I imagine. I can't see where it starts. It's down under the black part. It might have been a flaw in the original windshield, as they put it in."
The crack DID lengthen, but not all the way across. Hick called to see how far ahead of him we were. About 4 miles, since we left him after getting gas. I told him about the windshield, and he said we have zero deductible on glass breakage, so it won't cost a thing to replace the windshield.
As we pulled into the Rest Area some 110 miles later, to meet up momentarily with Hick, I said to The Pony...
"Now Dad can look at your...uhh...CRACK!"
I realized as that last word was coming out that I should qualify it with WINDSHIELD. But I couldn't pass up such a chance. My 13-year-old self would disown me.
That got The Pony giggling right along with me. We couldn't stop, even when Hick walked over to The Pony's door to see why we weren't getting out. He finally gave up and walked inside without us. When The Pony could talk again, he said...
"Mother. That is just WRONG."
When we came back out, I called to Hick, who was about to get into A-Cad...
"Hey! You forgot to look at The Pony's CRACK!"
I swear Hick almost cracked (oops!) a smile. Quite a feat for one born without a funny bone.
From the outside, we could clearly see the chip in the glass, from a rock. Hick has already called his repairwoman in his work town. She is ordering the windshield, and he'll get it put in after Christmas.
But...I'm putting the cart before the horse. The Rogue before The Pony. Telling you about the way BACK before I've even discussed CasinoPalooza 3. More on that coming up this week.
You crack me up! See what I did there?
ReplyDeleteI see that your own 13-year-old self has taken over your keyboard. Or phone. Those young whippersnapper selves know more about technology.
DeleteNaughty little 13 year old Val!!
ReplyDeleteShe is sitting in the corner wearing a dunce cap! Because that's still allowed in my dark basement lair.
DeleteI'm chuckling here too, seems we're all 13 years old this week.
ReplyDeleteCan't be an old fuddy-duddy 24/7/365!
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