May 25: Waiting for the Shoe, Car Problems, Disappointment

I dropped off my wife's car at the dealership this morning.  When I drove it last week, she mentioned that the car rattled when it was idling.  "How long has it been doing that?" I asked.  She shrugged her shoulders, as if I'd just asked her about the mating habits of the Brazilian magpie rather than the car she drives every day.  On top of the rattle, the latch on her back door sometimes sticks and doesn't open.  When I dropped her vehicle off, I listed these problems, and all I could see were dollar signs.  I have a feeling this little check-up is going to hurt.  All day long, I've been waiting for the call from the dealership, for the metaphorical shoe to drop.  I can imagine it will go something like, "Well, we got everything fixed.  The entire engine needed to be rebuilt.  The brakes needed replacing, and your tires were all worn out.  We had to repaint the entire body of the vehicle, as well, because we found some rust on the undercarriage.  Your bill comes to $27,852.73."  Or something like that.

Last night, I tried to climb to the top of my column, like Simeon.  However, I had to climb down once or twice to take care of a few things.  I spent a good hour trying to chase down my daughter's dance instructor to obtain a CD so my daughter could do a dance solo at a nursing home this morning.  I failed.  I spent three hours grazing in our kitchen because I couldn't figure out what I wanted to eat for dinner.  And I had a little battle of wills with my two-year-old son, who didn't want to go to bed.  I didn't feel very balanced last night, certainly not balanced enough to perch on top of a spiritual pole.

I'm a little tired right now, and I know the evening is going to be long.  I have praise band practice at church tonight, and my daughter is determined to watch the finale of American Idol, which I don't give a crap about.  Both of the finalists are teenage country singers.  I'd rather have a prostate biopsy.  I've hinted to my wife that I want to get take-out stir-fry for dinner tonight.  I'm not sure if she got the hint.

Top that all off with the fact that SH, my dreaded relative, will be flying in for her month-long visit in just eleven days.  I can hardly wait.  Really, I can.  Hardly.  Wait.

New poem tomorrow, or later today, if I find the time.

Saint Marty's waiting for that phone to ring....

The shoe's going to drop...