Let me start with a quick update about the Saga of the Broken Pennsylvanian Transmission.
Earlier this week, the mechanic at the garage in Pennsylvania pulled out the transmission. And worked on it. And put it back in again.
And it still didn’t work.
Oh happy day.
Since he is a master mechanic and very serious about doing his job well, he was back and forth on the phone to GM about the problem all the way through the process. On the umpteenth phone call, he finally managed to wrangle out of them some sort of instructions that “they don’t tell everybody.” (What’s that all about?)
At any rate, he pulled the transmission back out, fixed it using their “secret instructions” and put it back in.
It works perfectly. And he’s only going to charge us $1,000 instead of $1,500 because GM is going to pick up the rest of the cost.
And so I booked a flight for Steve to fly from Norfolk to Pittsburgh Sunday afternoon. He’ll land at 8 pm, stay with his aunt and uncle (who have already picked up the car for him) and leave the next morning at 6 am to drive the car back home.
I begged (and pleaded) (and also beseeched) him to let me fly there and drive the car home myself because I love a long road trip, especially when it involves driving through splendid Pennsylvania scenery. He had no problem with me doing it except for the fact he didn’t want me being the one to drive a newly repaired transmission 600 miles by myself.
Which I know is wise. But I still am sorta sad about missing out on a road trip.
A Bad Thing
When Nathan graduated from college, part of our gift to him was the mattress and box spring from his room (which he has always loved) along with his bedspread, pillows, and matching curtains. Which meant that we were left with a guest bedroom that had a bed frame, but no mattress, box spring or bedspread.
And so when Nathan came home with us for a week after graduation, we purchased said items so that he would have somewhere to sleep. And also, so that our guests would have a place to sleep. Which it seems that most most guests expect when they come to one’s house.
So that was all fine. Not to mention dandy. Until. The Bad Thing happened.
A Bad Thing that involved a beige quilt . . .
And a red sweater . . .
. . . and a leaky water bottle.
Some of you may already be filling in the blanks as to what The Bad Thing is all about but just to be sure that you’ve done your blank-filling accurately, let me share a Few Bad Thing Details.
Tuesday morning, I went into the guest room formerly known as Nathan’s room and picked up a water bottle from the bed where I had casually tossed it the night before. I noticed that the side of the bottle seemed a little wet but I didn’t think a whole lot about it. I mean, a little leaking water never hurt anyone, did it?
Later that day, Steve walked into the guest room to look for something and said, “Um, Becky. Why is there a big pink stain on the bedspread? It’s right beside this red sweater that was lying there.”
I thought about the leaky water bottle. That had been lying right on top of the red sweater. And I got a really bad sinkin’ feeling.
Sure enough. When I walked over to look, I saw a Bad Thing. A Very Bad Thing.
I saw this.
That water bottle, lying on the red sweater, must have done a slow leak the entire night because the bed and the sweater were soaked. And of course, it couldn’t have been a nice beige or white sweater that I threw on the bed—no, it had to be a RED sweater. A red sweater that leaked color.
Now mind you, this was not a quilt that we had bought at a thrift store fifteen years ago and had gotten plenty of use out of. No, this quilt was only three weeks old and purchased from a real store. And while it wasn’t the most expensive thing out there, it wasn’t overly cheap either because it came with a bed skirt, matching throw pillows, a coordinating blanket and pillow shams. And did I mention it was only three weeks old?
Although the quilt is machine washable, I took it to the dry cleaners to see if they had any advice. After two employees had stood for a few minutes looking at the quilt mournfully and clucking their tongues in unison they basically said, “That stain is not going to come out.”
But I took it to the Laundromat anyway, found a large capacity machine and gave it a whirl.
And guess what?
The stain didn’t come out. At all.
I guess our only option at this point is to hit some thrift stores and try to find a plain-ish, beige-ish, tan-ish quilt that will sort of tie in with all the accoutrements that we bought with the set.
Sighs of sympathy are welcome. Not to mention appreciated.