Farm Fresh Blog

You can't fix stupid, or so I've been told.  God, I hope they can fix stupid, because if not, I'm in trouble.  You see, I had a major attack of The Stupid today.

Because I had been feeling out of sorts, I decided to take the day off, lay in bed, and read a book.  BUT . . . then I remembered that I needed Goat Food. (SEE!  It all comes down to GOATS AGAIN!) So this afternoon I tossed the dogs off me, and hauled my butt out of bed.  Lily The Border Collie and I loaded up in my Monster Truck (I LOVE my Monster Truck!) and off to the feed store we went. That's when I noticed I had no gas.

So I headed to the gas station. I pulled up to the pump that I ALWAYS use, swiped my credit card, and pumped $62 worth of gas into that sucker while Lily and I chatted about herding lessons. (I was NOT on the phone!)

The pump clicked off. Lily pointed at the $62 total and gasped.  I KNOW! Eegaads! My 4Runner only guzzles up about $28! You see, I bounce between two trucks.  The 4Runner is my putt-putt car for running back and forth to work. Monsta Truck is my farm truck.

So Monsta, Lily and I headed to the feed store. A few minutes later we were loaded up with feed and headed towards home.  And that's when life went to Hell In A Handbasket. It started with a knocking in the engine.  Then I noticed the blue smoke.  "Holy Shit!"  (I said that, not Lily.)

I pulled into a parking lot and called Other Half - who didn't answer his cell phone.  Then I called the house phone - no answer.  Then I called his cell phone again. Still no answer. Then I called Son - no answer.  Then I called Other Half's Guy Friends - NONE of them answered.  "Holy Shit!" (Lily said that - pardon her French.)

So I called one of my old partners who is a K9 officer now. I described the situation to him. 

"Leroy! (He calls me Leroy. It's a long story.)  Did you put gasoline in your diesel truck?!!"

"Holy Shit!"  (Lily and I both said that.)  I got this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.  Could I have done something so stupid?  I WAS deep in thought at the time.  (I was NOT on the phone!)  I DO have two vehicles that require two different kinds of fuel. I DO fill them both up at the SAME gas pump, but I'm usually careful to use the CORRECT nozzle . . . still . . . it was hard to deny that SOMETHING had caused the engine to knock and blue smoke to come out of the back.  (It wasn't looking good for Stupid.)

Then he informed me that he would be happy to come help me but he was working a scene and his patrol dog had just bitten someone. Oh . . . ok then! Since he was on-duty and at least an hour away, it never occurred to me that he'd even consider coming to get me, bless his heart. He is a Real Friend. (Remember this, a friend helps you move.  A Real Friend helps you move a body!) So I thanked him for his diagnosis of the problem. Then I asked him if it was covered under insurance and he said,

"I doubt it."

"What!  Why not?"

"Cuz Insurance don't cover Stupid!"

"But if I'd gotten drunk and driven in a ditch, they'd cover that!!!"

"But not if you filled the ditch up with water and then drove into it!"  (I didn't understand that statement at all.  It must be a Man Thing.)

Anyway, I let him go back to work and called Dear Friend Debbie.  (of Cornerstone Stables!  Remember Chase and Chazz?)

Dear Friend Debbie was most supportive.  She was on her way home from work and immediately called her husband (Dear Friend Doug!) who was also on his way home from work. (Note to self: Remember to get Dougie's cell phone number!)  Anyway, Dear Friend Debbie called Dear Friend Doug (who is her husband, Are y'all able to follow this?) and informed him that Stupid had put gasoline in a diesel truck.  (I'm sure she was more sympathetic than that.  Debbie is a sweetheart.)

Just as she was giving me the happy news that Dear Friend Doug was on his way to the rescue, Other Half called.  He did not say "Holy Shit."  In fact, because this is a family-friendly program, I cannot print what he said. He did ask me one question though.

"NO!  I was NOT ON THE PHONE!!!!"

So Dear Friend Debbie came to sit with me while we waited for the Men to rescue me.  (Eegaads!  How did I get in this situation?) Anyway, Dear Friend Debbie crawled into the passenger seat of Monsta Truck and Lily crawled into her lap. Lily, who is not a stranger to drama and cussing, realized that this was one particular Drama which couldn't use a Faithful Border Collie. So Dear Friend Debbie and I chit-chatted while we waited for The Boyz.

Other Half came in his patrol truck and Dear Friend Doug drove our Dually.  After it was positively established that yes, Stupid DID put gasoline in a diesel truck, the Boyz put a tow rope between the trucks and we started down the road.  Dear Friend Debbie was in front with her flashers on.  Dear Friend Doug was pulling Monsta with our Dually.  Lily and I sat in Monsta truck with white knuckles.  I had white knuckles because I had no power steering, no power brakes, and what seemed like about 4 feet of clearance between the grill of Monsta Truck and the tailgate of our Dually.  (Lily had white knuckles cuz all her feet are white anyway.) Other Half followed us with his emergency strobe lights on.

Because it was already dark and we were now in rush-hour traffic, it took us forever to get out of the parking lot and onto the roadway. We had just started rolling down the road when I heard something break.  "Holy Shit!"  (Lily and I both said that.)  The tow rope broke. (What Other Half said cannot be repeated.)

So we were now broken down ON THE ROADWAY!  And that's when I remembered that prayer might be a good idea in this situation.  Dear Friend Doug quickly put on another tow rope  (He was as fast as any Rodeo Cowboy with a calf.) Other Half was in the road with a flashlight, trying to stop traffic so Doug wouldn't get run over.  The problem was - the traffic WOULDN'T STOP!  These were commuters.  They were tired.  They were hungry.  (They were on cell phones.) And Other Half was beside himself with anger.  There was LOTS of cussing. I did lots of praying.  So did Lily.  (In fact, I'm sure I heard her say "Dear Lord, please watch over Daddy and Uncle Dougie, and Dear Lord, while I have you on the line, would you please make Mommy buy pig ears at the feed store next time.)

After much yelling, Other Half finally got the traffic stopped.  I kid you not, I saw one woman actually point at herself with a question mark. Me?  You want me to stop?  Me? (Yes YOU!)  She never got off her cell phone, but she stopped, and that stopped everyone else. Dear Friend Doug finished with the tow rope, climbed in the dually, and we were Back In Business!

So our unlikely parade rolled down the road - way too fast.  I could barely steer, I had little or no brakes, and I couldn't see because the windshield was all fogged up. I'm normally a calm person, but panic clawed at me like a cat getting a bath. I whipped out that cell phone (YES!  I WAS ON THE PHONE!) and called Dear Friend Debbie.  (because I forgot to get Doug's number before our little train left the station.) 

"MAKE HIM SLOW DOWN!  MAKE HIM SLOW DOWN!" I screamed into the phone.

And she did.  And the wet cat in my stomach calmed down a little.

It was still a long, white-knuckle trip home. When we finally reached the driveway, I leaped out to hug Dear Friend Doug!  Then I hugged Dear Friend Debbie! Then I hugged Other Half. And then . . . Other Half and Dear Friend Doug announced that they were going to get a sticker for the gas cap of my truck that reads: Sheri! Use Diesel Fuel Only!

I was not amused.  I KNOW it only takes diesel fuel, I'm not STUPID!  (And I WASN'T ON THE PHONE!!!)

And I'd like to take a moment to thank God for dear friends like Doug and Debbie who race to the aid of members of PWAPA. (People Who Aren't Paying Attention)  I am a card-carrying member of PWAPA, an ever-expanding group of busy women in their 40's and older who put the television remote in the refrigerator, put the milk on the washing machine, and put gasoline in a diesel truck. I encourage other members of PWAPA to step forward and let your voices be heard!

Proudly wave your membership cards at your husbands and repeat after me: 

"I was . . . NOT ON THE PHONE!"