My moron moments

(Originally posted April 2008)

Fair is fair. And since I have pointed out some other people’s foibles in this blog (who, me?), I better share mine. Recently I had a really bad run of moron moments. In my defense, it was a certain time of month, and my version of PMS is clumsiness and stupidity. It’s true. Ask Cris. He has very nearly bought me steel-toed boots a few times.

Moron Moment 1: When the license plate arrived for my new car, my first thought was that I could finally remove the sticker from the inside of my windshield. So, I did. But it wasn’t easy… in fact is was downright hard. But I got it off, mostly. The next day, we were at the mall and I noticed that several cars — no, make that all of the cars — in the lot had stickers right where mine used to me. Funny, they had license plates, too.

Me: Um, Cris… will you go read those stickers?

Cris: North Carolina inspection.

Me: @!!%@##$@$%$@!&@$#@%$#@#

The next day I ask my brother, the cop, what happens if you remove the sticker. He thinks I should call the Honda dealer. I was going there the next day for something else, anyway, so I was going to ask. But they asked me first.

Honda Guy: Wasn’t your car inspected? There’s no sticker…

Me: Funny you should ask that…

He wasn’t so amused by the fact that I never even read the sticker. I just assumed it was a temporary registration, like they do in California. NO matter how cute I tried to be while telling the story, he never cracked a smile. He just offered to have it re-inspected, for $30, of course. Well, California would have been more expensive. He was laughing when he brought me my keys, though.

Me: Oh good, you do find it funny.

Honda Guy: No, I’m laughing at the pig on your keychain that oinks and lights up.

Moron Moment 2: While backing down our driveway (Yes, down. It has a big slope.), I was trying to avoid the recycling guy who was parked slightly in front of the right side of the driveway. So, instead I hit our mailbox on the left. Thankfully, I’m still unsure of the combination of my big new Pilot and the sloping driveway, so I go slowly. The mailbox is only slightly askew.

Algebra lesson: Large, slightly unfamiliar car + Sloped, slightly unfamiliar driveway = Crooked mailbox

Moron Moment 3: I ran out of gas. I was driving with the light on. Now, in my defense, the Honda sales man told me that the gas light would flash to signal the danger zone. Imagine my surprise when the car stopped and there was no flashing light.

I was late getting Max from school, thus running late to his first chiropractor appointment. “I’ll make it and get gas afterward,” I thought. Thankfully I hadn’t gotten on the freeway yet when the car stopped. Strangely, the minute it happened, Cris called because the chiropractor called him to make sure we were coming.  Luckily his phone meeting had ended early and he was free to go buy gas and bring it to us.  So, Max and I sat stranded listening to music. No one stopped to see if we were OK.

After abut 40 minutes a very nice sheriff stopped (thank God I got the new sticker!). I explained that my husband was on the way. He said he’d hang out until he got there. Of course he sat behind me with his lights on, so it looked like I was pulled over. Another half hour goes by, so I call Cris, who had gotten mildly lost. Let me just say, the freeways here are a freakshow. And I was in an area of Raleigh where he had never been.

Cris pulls up just as my battery dies from playing the CD player.

So, we fill the car, back Cris’ car up onto grass (the only time it will ever be parked on grass) so he can jump start my car, crack some jokes with the incredibly nice sheriff and head out.

The amazing part of it all was Max was an absolute gem. He didn’t make a peep of protest. He just hung out and listened to music.

So, FYI to Pilot owners… 374 miles on one tank is too many.

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