I can't say it enough: I am not a morning person.
I like to take it slow, sip my coffee, let the sweet nectar lazily flow through me, waking me up.
So when my doorbell rings and my beautifully sweet neighbor asks if Rob is home with frenzied eyes, I think oh crap! I have on a nightgown, hairband and fuzzy socks! You have GOT to be kidding me.
I say "Oh, Kari, no he's at work."
Now it's panic I see in her eyes.
"My car is dead..."
I'm thinking, I'm thinking...YES! I have those jumpery cables things! Check!
Oh, wait, you need a car to jump from...no not jump FROM but jump to...NO! I mean you need two cars.
"I'm sorry he has the van." I say praying my stank coffee breath hasn't reached her.
She looks defeated, I apologize again.
Ugh, I hate that I can't help her. Sometimes, I hate being "a girl".
Lets face it, there are just somethings girls can not do, or should not attempt to do. Car stuff is one of them, for me. I hate the smell of gas. Grease under nails drives me crazy. I could not tell you what most tools names are.
And I would not expect my husband to say, do Nina's hair or bake cookies that don't come in a tube.
Yes, I do know how to change a tire, in theory, but that doesn't mean I'd do it. Yes I do know how to use the jumpery-cable-thingies, but I'm not going to attach them to the battery, because I know that you aren't suppose to wear white after labor day, unless you are a bride...so red to black or red to red, black to black...it doesn't matter, I'll wait for some nice guy to come in and do it.
I call Rob. Because that is what I do when there is a guy thing that needs doing.
Okay, we have a box thing that will jump it.
He gives me instructions. The Sara kind. I march across the drive-way nightgown, I've added robe now, fuzzy socks and jumper-box-thingie. I knock on the door, hold up the box and say "Let's do this!"
Kari laughs. Then I notice she has a box thingie too. Hers is newer, spiffier and it's clamps are a whole lot bigger.
"Oh," she says "Your clamps might work! Mine are too big."
Yes, friends things CAN be too BIG. It's never jeans in my case.
It's charging, we're chatting, when a nugget of info comes out.
The Cadillac is finicky, sometimes when it looses power it has to be restarted, or I should say the computer, and without that it won't start. It's like some fancy safety system to prevent stealing or something...I wouldn't know I've never owned a Cadillac. I drive Chevys and Subarus and a Mopar. (That is a Dodge brand folks.)
I call it a day, because frankly, I'm freezing and embarrassed that I'm standing outside in my robe, nightie and fuzzy socks and there is no hope of this working until the security issue is resolved.
I call Rob back.
"It didn't work."~Me
"What do you mean?"~Rob
"The car is too fancy for the box. It needs a fancy pants box computer upboot security something or other to start it."~Me
This is morning number two that has not gone the way I like. Lazy, slow...
I think from now on I just need to roll out of bed, hit the fuzzy socks and say "Let's do this."
Because no matter how the day starts, it's a new one; it's what I do with it that makes it a good one.