So, the sun is trying to kill us dead today. I didn’t do much, but what I did do filled me with great pride because seriously–I wanted to be huddled in the air conditioning with a book trying to pretend our politicians weren’t rooting the sun right the fuck on.
Anyway– left at 8:30 to take the dogs for a walk so we didn’t all get heat stroke. I figured out why I’m staying at the park for walkies, when I’m pretty sure crazy twat lady has forgotten who I am.
The park is 90% in the shade. Until it gets a little cooler, I”m thinking the park is gonna be my jam.
Anyway– dropped Geoffie off at the groomers on my way home, then went to get my swimming bag out of the car and realized the side door wouldn’t close.
I came in, called the Honda service department, and prepared for disappointment.
Now see, I like our service guy, but he’s not, uh, well… truthful, I guess. And last time, we got a girl instead, and I thought, “Okay, she’ll be more dependable than Rog,” but then she tried to convince me that you couldn’t run the radio for more than a couple of minutes without running the battery down, and anybody who has been to a drive-in movie knows that’s bullshit, but apparently it was easier to feed me bullshit than to fix my goddamned battery.
I called Rog, he suggested I have the car towed, open door and all, because, well, he’s Rog.
Anyway, after saying vaguely, “Sure, I’ll think about it,” I called Mate who was like, “I hate to agree with Rog on this one but…”
And I said, “Fine. I’ll go out in an hour and check. Maybe the car will change its mind about petty betrayals.”
Mate said, “Tell me how it goes,” and did NOT ask out loud how he ended up being married to a complete nut job, which totally justifies my purchase of the expensive wrist thing he got for Father’s Day yesterday. (BTW? When you take this thing off, it does bright lights and vibrations in an attempt to revive you to your senses because it thinks you’re DEAD. THEN it turns off. My DOGS don’t even care about me that much.)
So after an hour, I had Squish do it, because I just didn’t want to think about the car, dammit.
She came back in and said, “What button did you push that time they locked the automatic door opener thingie out and you had to call the Honda people as we were traveling down the road so we could pick my brother up? Remember? When I had to climb into the back seat from the front seat? And you were really embarrassed?”
“Uh, it’s right next to the steering wheel. It’s a little sliding button–slide it so the red part is hidden.”
She came back and said “After I did that, I could shut the door myself.”
So there you go, folks. That is how my eleven year old daughter outsmarted me (not hard), her father (very hard) and one not incredibly bright guy whose entire job it is to figure out how to run a Honda Odyssey.
HER generation isn’t gonna be dumb enough to end up with an idiot traitor in the Whitehouse, and senators who want to kill poor people in congress.
But I’m hoping they’ll be kind, and pity the generation that was.