Too Salty for my Own Good

Yesterday, I had to take my Tahoe in to get the brakes fixed/repaired. 

I did not want to do this. 

In fact, that is one seriously massive understatement. I despise taking a vehicle for work. I am not a stupod person, but, I know most places see a woman come in and they rub their hands together with glee because they’re gonna find a gazillion things wrong that you NEED to get taken care of. Like I see little dollar signs floating around their heads. 

I tried to bargain with my husband. I told him I would do the laundry, go to the grocery store and get the groceries, cook meals, be responsible for family member’s doctor/dentist appointments and a host of other things if he would just take it himself.  

Let that sink in a minute. Because, you know, I already do that stuff on the daily. 

Alas, they did not have an early appointment for today and he wanted to be prepared in case our now college SOPHOMORE needed us to come help her bring stuff home for summer. Gah. I hate when he makes sense. 

So, I went. After I did an hour and a half workout at the gym. 

Your girl was beyond exhausted.

That alone made me salty. 

Add in my dang back hurting (stupid Degenerative Disc Disease) and I was way past salty. 

Three and a half hours later and a much lighter wallet, I got to go home. 

Things I took note of during my threehours of  torture sitting in a hard cheap plastic chair:

1. Why didn’t this business have a bench outside? You keep the waiting room (and I use the term loosely) colder than a witch’s butt so you have to walk outside to warm up...and there’s no seating. Fix it, sir. 

2. Make me go do this and I’m not cooking supper. 

3. I called my husband out of a training to talk to them about what would get done. Wait. He called me because I sent a picture of what they wanted to do and the sticker shock hit him good. 

4. I’m not mad about fixing the truck. That sweet baby is paid for. She’s a 2007 model and has done....I think three....round trips across this great country. This is the first time we’ve done this. Not bad. I’d rather pay this and be safe traveling and not have monthly car payments. 

5. At the end of the month, HE is driving for our family vacation. I’m gonna ride shotgun and back seat drive. It’s who I am as a person to do that. 

I suppose I should be ashamed for acting like a teenager who was told to clean my room. I showed my butt about having to do this adult chore. I didn’t stomp my foot, though. I managed to refrain. And supper at Applebee’s was pretty tasty, too. 

Three weeks until vacation. 

I think I can make it. 

I think I can. 

I think I can.

I think I can.