Christine, Girls Night Out, and Me

 Gratitudes:

1. ABBA - there is no better cheque book balancing, bill paying music. 
2. Kindles and Wine book blog, which has become my go-to-blog of choice for book recommendations. 
3. My car battery is not dead and Daisy's starter does not need replacing. Phew!

Okay, here's the story. Last night was girls night out with good friend Miss J. We are known to close down restaurants and sit in the car for several hours AFTER we return to her place chatting about anything and everything. We don't get out as often as we used to so it's a real treat when we can leave husbands, children, and dogs behind for an evening of girlfriend fun.

We left one of our favorite haunts after some great food (restaurants that have GF menus to make it easier for your patrons with foodie needs, thank you for the bottom of our hearts!)  and even more amazing dessert, we drove back to Miss J's house so I could drop her off. This was around 11pm. As per our custom, the windows were rolled down, the engine turned off and we sat chatting for another, oh, three hours. There is such joy when you connect with someone and are able to be completely yourself with them. We don't always agree, and we call each other on our shit, but we are sisters of the heart so when said shit is called, we know it's done out of compassion.

So we talked, losing total track of time. I suck at parallel parking so I kept the park lights on during this time, just in case my midnight black car was not easily seen by passing traffic. Three hours later, when I attempted to start my car, all I got was a click, click, click. Thinking the park lights had drained the battery, Miss J and I pulled out jumper cables and attempted to jump my car. Nothing except a click, click, click. The headlights worked and the windows worked so maybe it wasn't the battery. I thought back to a previous demon car from hell and thought the clicking sound was an awful lot like when Spike's starter died. Each time Spike's starter died. 

Miss J graciously drove me home after I locked up Daisy for the night and I crawled into bed next to a completely unconscious husband and slept, hoping I would wake up when he did so I could tell him about poor Daisy.

This morning was hot. Icky, gross, I need an iced tea and a pool boy to fan the waves of heat away hot. Or maybe that was the dream I had last night. Either way, Hubs was not looking forward to climbing under my car to replace the starter. Mr. Grumpy left for Miss J's and called me about ten minutes later. "Were you drunk last night? I jumped the car and it started just fine."

Hmph. Fickle, thy name is Daisy. Of course she started for Hubs. Of course she wouldn't start for me. No, she had to be all coy and make me look like I'm not the daughter of an automotive mechanic who knows how to jump a freaking car. 

On one hand I'm really glad we didn't have to replace the starter and that Hubs didn't have to spend most of his morning working on Daisy's ill-conceived motor design. One the other hand, really? I swear, my car and my husband are in cahoots and trying to make me look bad. Maybe they are both gas-lighting me. Maybe Daisy is really Christine reincarnated and lurvs Hubs with all her little oil pan heart. 

I'm still really glad Daisy is up and running. And even more grateful for girls night out. Miss J, we really must do it again sometime soon!