March 23: Jump Start, Another Dead Battery, Slasher Film

Nothing from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy this morning.  Forgot my copy of the book.  Stay tuned tomorrow for more from the adventures of Ford and Arthur and Zaphod.

Remember how I said in last night's post that I had nothing pressing to do this weekend?  That I was going to relax, read a book, watch Netflix, and have a game night with my kids and wife tonight?  Well, last night, when I got home from dinner, my daughter's car died in our driveway.  She was crying and yelling at her boyfriend, and I found myself not only trying to jump start her battery (it didn't work), but also playing relationship counselor and therapist.

I never got her car started.  It is currently on a trickle charger in my driveway.  I drove my daughter to her boyfriend's house, where she spent the night.  On the way to the boyfriend's house, I was telling funny stories to break the tension.  (Frankly, I was afraid she would smother him in his sleep.)  By the time we hit his driveway, she was much calmer.  Even laughing.

By the time I got home after dropping the happy couple off, it was 10:45 at night, and I was more than a little exhausted.  I read a few pages of my book, found my eyes closing involuntarily, and decided to go to bed.  Not quite the relaxing evening that I had planned.

Today, some time, once I get my daughter's car started, I will be taking it somewhere to get the battery replaced.  Again, not what I had planned for this Saturday.  However, I'm done with dead batteries.  Last night was the second time my daughter's car battery has died.  I thought that the battery was newer.  Nope.  It was actually installed in March of 2004.  Another unanticipated expense.  Two batteries in one week.  What are the chances?

Now would be the time that some people would say, "What else could go wrong?"  I'm not going to do that, for it would invite disaster into my life.  Sort of like in a slasher film when you think the killer has been electrocuted, shot, stabbed, or decapitated, and the last surviving teenager is breathing a sigh of relief.  Then . . . machete to the head, closing credits.  You see what I mean.

No, I am simply going to take my daughter's car to a mechanic, get the battery replaced, and continue on with the weekend I had planned, including game night tonight.

Saint Marty might be down, but he ain't out.