Recommended wine for today’s entry: Last night, I had a glass of Lo Tengo Malbec. As Dan’s Wine Ramblings (http://www.wineramblings.com/2005-Bodega-Norton-Lo-Tengo-Malbec-Wine-Review-Tasting-Notes.htm) said, “this meaty bodied malbec is absolutely dangerous. I had to resist drinking the entire bottle in one night. As recommended for most malbecs, I chilled this wine for about 15-20 minutes. The nose was earthy with fresh fruit aromas and a slight hint of leather. Creamy with low tannins, but still punchy enough to eat with a hearty meal.” My note: This is definitely one to try.
Oh, lawdy! What a day I had yesterday. If you’re a loyal reader, you know that I rarely do anything productive in a day; well, yesterday I did about five things that actually needed to be done. And that’s not even counting showering.
First, I noticed that my daughter’s car was dripping something and since antifreeze is VERY toxic to cats and our two garage kitties were out there, I poured some kitty litter on the spot to absorb it so they wouldn’t eat it.
Then I drove my daughter to school, which is apparently horrifying for a senior and so she wasn’t all that appreciative (read: reamed me out the whole way). I wonder how cool it is for a senior to roll in on the school bus?
When I got home, I noticed that there was a new puddle of liquid under the car – so just to check and see if it was for sure antifreeze, I stuck my finger in it and, just as I got it to my nose, I had a revelation.
What do we train cats to do? Pee in kitty litter. What would cause the slowly dripping antifreeze to suddenly pour into a big circle in a scant ten minutes? Nothing. Did I just stick my finger in cat pee? Yes.
But by the time all the synapses required to put this together had finished firing, I had taken a big whiff of fresh cat urine.
Then the shower.
Next, I called and made an appointment for the dealer to see the car, which is more difficult than getting an appointment with a renowned neurosurgeon. Then I had to hustle to do my other errands before said meeting with the great and powerful Oz.
First stop: One of those all-in-one stores because I needed to get a new straightener for my daughter with straight hair and dog food and a baby card and milk. Oh, and a hardy mum because it was near the entrance.
Everything I needed was strategically located in a different quadrant of the 10-acre building, so I grabbed a cart. I have never, and I mean never, gotten a cart without a deformity, and today was no different.
This one had three perfectly good wheels and one, the front left, that did a giddy little circle every fourth rotation, presumably because it was still attached and having so much fun. (I know, it sounds like I’ve watched The Brave Little Toaster one too many times – I think that personification of things like vacuum cleaners, toasters and shopping carts has to be a sign of mental illness.)
Anyway, it made this purr-purr-purr-THUMP-purr-purr-purr-THUMP noise all the way across the store. I am not exaggerating when I say that as I entered an aisle, every head would whip around to see what was coming.
The only good thing is that, for once, I didn’t have a cart full of feminine hygiene products when this happened.
After checking out, now hurrying, I bustled through the doors and was met by the loud BEEPBEEPBEEP that indicates that an armed and dangerous middle-aged woman is escaping with a cart full of expensive electronics. And milk.
Panicked, I spun around and a really nice guy said, “It’s ok, man, go on ahead.” So I bolted to my car, waiting to be tackled to the pavement any minute like they do on Cops.
Then I noticed that every single employee of the store was clean cut and wearing matching pants, shirt and little vest-thingie. But the guy who sent me on, the nice one who called me “man,” he had on like a tie-dyed shirt and jeans. And he was pushing a cart filled with Milwaukee’s Best.
Oops. But it wasn’t my fault. You know how your eyes see things and it takes awhile for the brain to register it? Yes, exactly. Just like the cat pee.
Second stop: A home improvement store, where I just needed to dash in and grab the flooring that they had called to say was finally ready to be picked up. Except I waited and waited and waited and listened to the customer service lady page “Bradley in Flooring” over and over. If I were Bradley and I heard the tone of her voice, I would have quit and left out the back door.
Finally after 20 minutes, she opened her cash register and said, “I’m gonna give you ten dollars and sixty cents for your time.” Whoa, I thought. I’ve never heard of that. And what makes you think that my time is worth thirty-one dollars and eighty cents an hour?
I think she thought I was a hooker or something. But I took it. I should have asked exactly how she arrived at that number, but I figured I’d use it to replace the rotting milk in the car. When Bradley did show up, he was an ancient, decrepit man who could have used the $10.60 much more than I could, but I didn’t quite know how to hand it over to him without pissing off the customer service woman who already scared me.
Well, as usual I’m too verbose. And here we aren’t even to noon yet. Tomorrow I’ll tell you how our “diagnostic appointment” with the leaking car went. Let’s just say it fit with the rest of the day.