Happy Birthday to you!
Cough-cough-cough and a-choo!
You got sick on your birthday
when you turned forty-two.
So, Lloyd doesn’t feel well, which really took the pressure off me trying to do something nice for his birthday. I brought him home a bag of Chinese food and a box of cold medicine. Happy Birthday, pal.
Since I don’t have any other pictures, let me just tell you about trying to make an appointment for getting new tires on my truck, yet another installment in the ‘Lauren doesn’t know how to handle car situations’ saga.
I’ve meant to call about tires since I got out of the ditch. The father of one of my preschoolers owns a tire place in town, and when I asked him about it he said, “Yeah – just call and make an appointment. They’ll figure out what kind you need.”
Newbie me thought that that meant I would make an appointment, take them my truck, and they would figure out what kind of tires I need.
So today I finally get around to calling… and it turns out I don’t know anything about my truck.
Me (calling from work): “Hi! I’d like to get new tires for my truck.”
Nice Man: “Okay. What kind of truck is it?”
Me: (thinking) ….. red? Dang it. What is it? (aloud, with confidence) A ’98 Mazda B2300. (Woo-hoo! Way to go, brain!)
NM (Checking his database): “A ’98? That would have to be a B2500, a 3000 or a 4000.”
Me: “I’m pretty sure it’s a 2300.”
Me: “Um. Just a second.”
I ran furiously down the alley to my truck, my heart pounding in my ears due to my firm resolution to never run unless being chased by a big dog or zombies.
Me: “It’s….*gasp*… a B…*gasp* 2500….Whaddaya know?… *wheeze*…
I held the mouthpiece of the phone up over my eyebrows when I’d suck air back into my lungs. I didn’t want him to hear that I was and idiot AND a weeny.
NM: “What size of tires are they?”
Me: “You have got… *wheeze* ….to be kidding me.”
It went on like that for a long time. If I knew that this was going to be a test, I would have studied harder.