Whiny, bratty ranting ahead. You’ve been warned. If you continue reading this post I am not responsible for any exasperated sighs or eye strained caused by continued rolling. Got it?
I’m having Ruby problems again. She refuses to start. She likes to make starting-like sounds but really that’s just teasing. There is no starting. My brother-in-law Ben thinks it might be the fuel pump which costs $400 just for the part. I expect labor will probably be even more. The thought of all this makes me want to barf because work is still super slow and I’m already starting to have nightmares where I have to move in with my parents and be 40 and single and living with my parents.
Speaking of my parents. They came over today to help me get Ruby towed to the shop. First the Tow Dude walked into my garage, turned Ruby’s key, and said, “It doesn’t want to start.”
“Yeah, that’s why I called you,” I said.
Tow Dude then went out to his tow truck where he got a hammer, laid down next to Ruby, and started wailing on shit underneath her with that hammer. He asked my dad to turn the key. Then shook his head, and mumbled something about fuel pump and no spark.
I turned to my mom and said, “I could have told him that.” My mom just shook her head, rolled her eyes, and said “Let’s go back inside.”
She was not too happy that Tow Dude wailed on my truck. “He has no right to do that. He’s just supposed to tow the damn thing.”
After Ruby was out of the garage and on her way to the shop (I hope, I have not heard from them at all which makes me a little nervous but not too nervous because she didn’t leave here until after 3 and the shop closed at 5), my parents decided to ask me if I needed money for about the 687th time today.
I’m not sure what it is about parents asking you if you need money that turns you into the worst version of your 25-year-old self — proud and stupid and desperately trying to show how grown up you are — but it totally does. Even though they were over here helping me I was suddenly indignant.
“Nooooo,” I whined. “I don’t need money.”
“Don’t be afraid to ask if you need help,” my dad said.
“I won’t,” I said barely containing an eyeroll.
It sucks. It all sucks and it sucks and I’m crabby about the suck and I’m crabby that all I can think about is how much everything sucks. And it won’t stop raining.
Also, to make everything even worse? I told my parents a story about my cats. It involved my nephews but it was still a story about my cats. I can go die of shame now.