Last Tuesday morning the Explorer wouldn't start. No problem, really. That's why we're a two-car family, right? We got Owen to school, then I took Tim back to work and left the truck sitting in the driveway to think about it and come back to me when it had a better answer.
When it still wouldn't talk later that night, Tim charged the battery for a while. Nothing. OK, no big deal. We weren't trying to pack it up and drive to Memphis for Thanksgiving.
Big John Deere hat-wearing boy comes with a tow truck on Wednesday morning and hauls it to Gateway, where I anticipate it will be fixed by that afternoon, maybe Saturday, since it's a holiday and all.
Get the bright idea to Google possible answers, since I self-diagnose all the time anyway. Internet thinks it could be anything from a spark plug to a fuel pump, since it's clearly not battery related. I mean, everything battery-related works. It just won't start. But I don't want a fuel pump for Christmas!!!!!!
Wait and wait and wait and wait to hear from Gateway. Drive past the parking lot twice during the week and see the truck sitting innocently. Wave.
By Sunday, when we're all tired of driving around with three boys sitting shoulder to shoulder in the back seat of a sedan that seats four "comfortably," we have this conversation:
Owen: (leaning over as Tim takes a turn too sharply) Whooooaaaaaaaaa!
Mason: (shoving little brother) Get off me!
Owen: It was an accident!!!
Henry: (leaning dramatically over onto both brothers) Weeeeeeeeee, I'm having an accident too!
Owen and Mason: Hey!!!!!!! Stop!
Tim: (frustrated) If you don't stop, I'm gonna have an accident on all of y'all!
Henry: (after pause) Eeeewwww.
And that, America, is why we drive an SUV with three rows of seats.
Pick up truck Monday afternoon with the bizarre news that there is not a thing wrong with it. Merry Christmas, Gateway and Lund's Towing.
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