Day 149: Stand by when the fuse blows
January 30, 2011 § 1 Comment
A few days ago I had to clean our car’s windshield with saliva. No washer fluid would shoot out when I pressed the console button, so I used my spit instead. Steph was concerned the problem was more serious, like the line had frozen, but I didn’t know what that meant so I just decided (with absolutely no basis for this conclusion) that everything would be solved if I took the car to Jiffy Lube.
Stephanie was in class so I went by myself. I told the attendant that the car needed to be “winterized.” I thought that was a regularly used term in the car-care industry, but apparently not, because he didn’t know what I wanted done. Surprised to find that winterization wasn’t a standard procedure, I just went ahead and said yes to everything.
I paid a bill that Steph says was unnecessarily hefty (I don’t know because I don’t have anything to compare it to), and left without checking to see if the wiper fluid worked. About halfway home I remembered to try it, but still nothing shot out. I figured they just forgot to fill it.
Today we opened the hood to address the issue. I’m afraid to touch anything under a car hood because for some reason it reminds me of when cartoon characters get electrocuted and all their hair stands on end and you can see their skeleton. When Steph realized that the wiper fluid tank was completely full, she determined it was a mechanical problem and immediately pulled out a packet of fuses from the trunk (yes, she keeps spare fuses on hand), and went to town.
I held up a flashlight while she pulled a panel out of the side of the passenger seat . She used some tweezers to pull a little red Lego-looking thing out of a socket and replaced it with a new one. I painted my toenails, knit a oven mitt, danced “The Nutcracker Suite” on the hood and built Barbie a dreamhouse while Steph successfully tested the new windshield washing fuse she’d just replaced.
OK, I didn’t actually do those things, but I might as well have. AND she’s a great cook. She does both the manly stuff and the womanly stuff. I’m pretty good at overanalyzing episodes of Iron Chef.
For better or for worse, she’s the Superman to my Lois Lane.