But I Don’t Do Dishes

Farm life requires that a girl expand her skills. Prior to buying the ranch I was already well versed at horse handling, wine swilling, and using the spray bottle to keep the hairless cat off the counter. After this month, I will be adding a new skill to my repertoire: grease monkeying.

My hand isn’t really that big in real life and I’m not usually that greasy. I was helping Dave change his starter. Prior to that moment, I was aware that the truck needed a starter to start but that was the extent of my knowledge. Now, I am well versed in the location of the starter and how to remove it. The starter is between two thing-a-magiggers, behind some tubes and wires and up against the fire wall(ish). For those of you who don’t know what all that technical jargon means, it means the starter is hard to get to, especially if you have big man hands.

But if you have long, thin arms and long, thin fingers and a lack of patience, you can volunteer to help your husband remove the parts of the starter, that he clearly has no chance in hell of reaching, with his bulging biceps. Then you lose 30 minutes of your life doing this:

Dave says it took two hours off the time it normally takes him to replace his starter. (Especially astute readers will notice that there is a “normal” amount of time it takes, which insinuates (correctly) that Dave does this often. That astute reader would be right. This starter was still under warranty.)

My skills don’t end at Dodge trucks with about a million miles on them. No sir-ee Bob. I work on all forms of geriatric, American made, heavy machinery. Here I am laying under the dump truck:

We were trying to get a picture of the do-hickey, which had leaked out all of its fluid so, now the truck won’t change gears.

I’m going to send the photos of that thing to my dad, who will in turn look it up in his big book o’ truck parts. He will then order said truck part (hopefully for a decent price) and ship it to our door, where I will single-handedly replace it on my one day off.

AAAAAHHHHHHHH. I think someone snatched my brain! I got carried way and my mind just entered whole new realm. It was an out-of-body/mind experience. What I meant to say is I will go back to swilling wine while Dave replaces that part. There’s all sorts of room under that truck for his bulging biceps. He doesn’t need my help. Phew. I’m glad I’m back.


One response to this post.

  1. Posted by husband on February 28, 2011 at 22:05

    I don’t know. I remember less fingers facing me. Maybe it was hot that day. Maybe…


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