Monday, March 23, 2009

And THAT's Why I Love The Bronx

Does it strike anyone else as odd that every single thing that goes wrong with your car is always less than the deductible on your insurance? [Insert aggravation shrug and hand in the air throwing].

Would you like me to extrapolate? I was awakened Saturday morning to my lovely husband posing an odd question to me while my eyelids were still closed in full sleep.

"Did you have anything in the car that could be stolen?"

I'm sorry, hamina hamina what? As my brain snapped to full awake mode way too quickly, I almost thought he was telling me the car was stolen, or the baby was stolen, or the baby stole the car. Time stood still as we sat there staring at each other, both in stupified bewilderment. Finally, my brain regained the use of its neurons and I realized what he meant to say was, "Good morning, Sunshine! I love you! Everything is perfectly okay, and the baby is sleeping snug in his bed. Oh, by the way Dearest Love Noodle, unfortunately some sad soul broke the window of our car last night and stole our Garmin. But do not fret Sweet One, I'll clean up the mess and have the glass fixed in a jiffy. Love you!"

He's just slightly vocabularily challenged and used alternate verbage.

So at day's end the tally is: the window's broke, the Garmin's gone, the insurance won't cover either, and my "guard dog" barks at everything that moves except the things that move to break into my car.

Life - 4, Me - 0

But in the Cage Fight Rematch, that Bitch is going d-o-w-n.

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