Working on My Car

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Check this out.

A couple of weeks ago I went to a job site visit at the University at Buffalo. I parked my car in a huge lot and went out walking. When I returned that is what I saw.

A broken taillight!

I even checked the car to make sure it was mine.

And the reason I was so perplexed was because whoever had hit me had taken the time to clean up the broken glass.

"Are you kidding me?" I yelled.

I texted maintenance and my wife responded with:

"It's no big deal."

Yet it is a big deal to an obsessive-compulsive man.

"I'm not driving around like this for a month," I said.

I was tempted to pay a couple of hundred bucks to fix it...immediately!

Yet I waited.

We ordered the new light. It came in quickly. It sat in the front room for an evening.

"Why don't you replace it?" Kathy asked. "Maybe you can do it...it might make you feel like a man."

Isn't that nice?

So, Sunday morning, after church, I grabbed a screwdriver.

It took me a matter of minutes to take out the broken light and change it out. I lingered out there for a little while.

I wanted my neighbors to look out the window and say to one another, over breakfast:

"Cliff is out working on his car."

I headed back to the house. Everything worked. I wish I had a little oil I could dab on my forehead.

"Where were you?" Kathy asked as she started her morning motor with caffeine and nicotine.

"Just out being manly," I said.

"About time," she answered.

Isn't that nice?

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