I Need a Rubber Mallet

I think all of us like to be helpful. Most of us don’t try to give bad advice. The problem comes from when the advice is not needed. If only we could all determine when not to give advice.

This weekend Moose and I went to a wedding dinner. We drove down, had a lovely time, and went back to our car only to find out that there was a flat tire. Flat tire no problem. Only the socket we had just purchased was the wrong size and we had taken the nice jack out of the trunk. Still, no problem. When Moose removed all of the lug nuts we found that the rim had rusted onto the wheel. Normally, no problem. Kick it off. In dress shoes and not steel toed boots, this became more of a problem. But still, Moose knew what he needed. A rubber mallet. New problem. One of the only people I can think of who would have a rubber mallet on hand is my father when he is camping. No father, no camping, no rubber mallet.

Plenty of people walked by. Most of them had suggestions. Some of them were a little extreme. “Drive on the wheel with the lug nuts off.” Yes. When the tire is still full of air, this can work. Without air you can ruin your rims. “That’s okay, there cheap rims anyway.” Cheap rims to him. The suggestions continued. I know they were trying to help. I know they had no way of knowing that Moose worked at a tire store for three years. He studied and worked as an auto mechanic for five years. When Moose says he needs a rubber mallet to fix a car problem I find the best thing to do is get him a rubber mallet.

One new rubber mallet later. . .

The wheel came off and the donut went on. We made it home safely. We need a new tire because the hole is too close to the sidewall. Not a problem. We were planning on purchasing new tires before winter set in. My driving 100 miles a day on it for over a year wasn’t so good for making them last. I am now driving our Cherokee. I’m not very good because I’ve never driven a 6 cylinder stick shift and I’m not use to having so much power.

Monday, as Moose was coming home, the stereo in the truck started to wig out. He made it home only to have all the electrical die. The alternator, after 27 years, finally decided it had enough. We spent the majority of Monday evening running around getting a new part and then Moose installed it. I never thought there would be a time in my life when two of the three cars we owned were un-drivable. And this, people, is why I married an auto mechanic. (Just don’t ask Moose when he is going to replace the reverse light that has been out for two years. He’ll get around to it. Maybe.)