My darling Weez was home for about 48 hours, and is now on her way back to Lexington. Poor thing. While she was here, her plan was to get her car inspected so that she could have “our guy” do any repairs that might be necessary for her venerable Ford Focus to pass inspection. Unfortunately, the wild winter weather here did so much damage to her license plates that he sent her off to the RMV to get new plates. Have you ever heard the advice that you should never go to the RMV on a Monday or a Friday? Yeah.
So we had a mid-afternoon conversation about what to do. I suggested the RMV in the town where she’s working, but the hours that they are open are completely contained within the hours she works, which makes it less than convenient. We hung up, feeling like the Universe really should give us a BREAK already. The thought then crossed my mind, “If I were a good wife, I would offer to switch vehicles.” Groan. I dialed and made the suggestion. So, Weez is driving the truck, which gets about 17 miles to the gallon, on her 120 mile per day commute. I am driving her station wagon, and will be visiting the RMV and the inspection station (hopefully not “our guy” to have it fixed, if the gods are kind to us) during at least one lunch hour this week.
In good news, it turns out we’re not going to get kicked out of the neighborhood for bad lawn management! Just kidding. I mean, we have terrible lawn management, but our neighborhood isn’t that kind of place. In any case, Weez managed to mow the jungle while she was here, so I don’t have to go into hiding whenever I see one of our neighbors. To be fair, I have terrible lawn management skills, and Weez hasn’t been here. Plus our lawn mower is broken. Did I forget to mention that? Yes, that lawn mower is out for repairs.
Our riveting drama parade marches on. I think we’re almost to the finale. Hopefully it will be terribly anticlimactic. We’ve had enough, thank you very much.