Pickles & Dimes

Jason likes to relentlessly tease me about how I break everything I touch. For awhile he had a point: things I last touched would inexplicably stop working, even though I wasn’t constantly dropping, inexpertly juggling or bashing them with sledgehammers.

Then one day last week, Jason morosely came into the backyard, cradling one of our solar lights like a dying soldier.

“I broke it,” he said disbelieving, as I rejoiced mentally.

Then two previously faithful objects in my life failed me: my car and the upstairs toilet.

I had the car’s oil changed about two weeks ago. About a week later, I noticed fluid underneath my car, in a Felix Ungar-inspired puddle. Per my protocol, I suppressed my brain from going any further than: “Uh-oh. That’s not go–.”

Then I imagined a magic car fairy would appear during the night to repair the oil leak while also rolling back the odometer, removing the rust spot and eliminating the pet hair. The next evening I parked in a different area of the driveway so the car wouldn’t see the old spot and get any ideas.

The following morning, I backed slowly out of the driveway, fingers mentally crossed, and saw another, larger oil spot silently giving me the finger.

We took the car back to the oil place, where the tech thought maybe it was frame oil (or maybe he said fram oil? I wasn’t paying attention because I was looking for the car fairy). He wiped it down and sent us on our way.

I feigned ignorance for another few days, soiling another two spots on our driveway and one in our garage, where I hurriedly parked the car because a nasty thunderstorm was predicted to hit. (It didn’t, and after the fact, I realized I should’ve left the car outside to get potential hail damage so I could collect the insurance money. I’m kidding. Sort of.)

This morning I backed out of the driveway and saw yet another oil leak on the driveway awaiting its kitty litter blanket.

I called the repair shop to bring the car in on Monday.

Unless the repairs are pretty cheap (e.g., free), it’s time for a new car, which I do NOT want, because this car is paid off and another car would equal a car payment and I do not want that because I am trying to save money and this is the exact opposite of that.

Also, the Kelley Blue Book value on my car is only $442.

Which is how much I’ll probably spend on either a plumber or a new toilet, since the toilet upstairs has started playing this infuriating game called: “Guess which contents I’ll flush and which ones I’ll leave behind. Hint: it’s not the ones you think.”

I’ve tried everything: messing with the flapper chain, adjusting the float, double flushing, stealth flushing, holding down the handle, cleaning the holes under the rim, exorcism, muttered threats, sullen glares. Nothing.

I’ll admit defeat with the car, because it’s 11 years old and has over 160,000 miles on it. But the toilet?

I’m not taking any more crap from it.