And I’m not talking about the blonde, letterseeking, square turning Vanna either. Nope I mean THEE Vanna White. The one that has been in semi-retirement for the last month +, while I debated whether I should retire her for good and purchase a new car, or get her fixed and drive her till she no longer has any get-up-and-go.
Mr. Farish made the choice easy. I drove home a week and a half ago (in Ann’s borrowed Honda), to see him up to his elbows in grease and gunk, tools, lights, and miscellaneous parts, ratcheting away at a screw that refused to budge. He was persistant and refused to let ol’ Vanna get the better of him. Oh sure, she resisted. Perhaps Vanna was feeling her age afterall. Did she not want to be of service to the Farish clan any longer? Not sure what it was that finally convinced her to suck it up and allow Mr. F. to use his healing powers, but heal she did … for about one day. The kids and I took her for a test run to Office Max, parked, purchased, and returned to a flat tire and a battery that debated heartily whether or not to start. She started, we drove, she died.
But, as with all things challenging, Mr. Farish refused to be beaten. Spring forward one week; Look at that gal sparkle! New battery, tires, front bumper (remember the deer incident?), fan, belts, tranny, and a nice little antena topper … the gal has more glitz and glitter than any Miss America contestant ever dreamed of owning. Yep, she is looking G-O-O-D!
So this morning, armed with my AAA card (just in case), I hop aboard and put ‘er in reverse … bing, bing, bing … OOPS, Vanna warns there is a door ajar. Park, stop, hop out, open and close each door, get in, reverse, drive … bing, bing, bing … door ajar. What in the world? perhaps I didn’t close them hard enough … repeat step one only really slam those girls shut. Off I drive only this time it is in search of Mr. F and Mia, out on their early morning walk so that I can inquire why in the world Vanna is screaming at me to close the *&^@ doors when all of them have been closed and then slammed without benefit of the intended result. I drive to the binging of the bell, can’t find Mr. F. What am I to do? I’ll tell you what this gal did … turned the radio up high and tried my best to ignore her wailing as I drove all 50 miles to work!
Welcome back Vanna, may we enjoy (at least) a few more years together. I’ve missed you girl!