Real Men Don't Need Instructions

That's what it says on a sweatshirt given to me by Mr. Mole. Today I was challenged to live up to it.

It was another eventful day. The morning began with Miss Annie having the first of several bouts of diarrhea -- thankfully confined to the tiled floor area. I was glad to leave C in charge and go play pickleball at the Y.

We'd planned to drive to Mt.Vernon to look at an IKEA desk C had found on Craigslist, but couldn't leave Annie alone in the house. I was delegated to go, since some lifting would be involved. When I tried to start the Trooper, I discovered that the battery was completely dead. It had only been driven a couple of times in the last few months, and I'd left the interior cargo light on after the last trip.

I managed to jump-start the Trooper from the Jetta and then remembered the fuel tank was almost empty. I was sure that if I turned the engine off while refueling I wouldn't be able to restart it, and made the mistake of mentioning it to C. She made me promise that I wouldn't refuel with the engine running -- not only is dangerous, it's illegal. Of course, I was right, but a kind person gave me another jump-start.

I left the engine running while I inspected the desk and then loaded it into the Trooper. After what seemed like a long trip (it's only 25 miles), I got home with all the pieces, but no instructions. It was a bit daunting when I spread it all out on the living room floor, but after one of C's delicious meals, washed down by some Double Bastard ale, I was up to the task.