So about that blower in my car…Tom fixed it. I knew he would.
I just didn’t know how long it would take or how grouchy he’d be when he came to pick me up yesterday.
The plan was for him to call his oldest son, a professional mechanic (nice to have one of those in the family) and see what he’d do first.
Tom originally planned to call J the night the blower went out but he was too stressed over the very idea of having to work on the car that he escaped into sleep. For the entire night. Yes. I know. I’m jealous too.
So the next morning, after the morning routine of getting the girls up and out the door to school, which, this time, included Tom driving us to the bus stop and me to work in his van, Tom went home and contemplated the car.
Then he called J.
And J’s first idea? Whack it with a hammer.
Seriously. Tom took the glove compartment out of my car, wrapped a mallet in duct tape and whacked the blower motor.
A five minute phone call, thirty seconds to take the glove compartment out of the car, a minute or so to wrap the mallet and a fraction of a second to actually whack that motor and it was all fixed.
J says he often has long lasting luck with a good whack.
I do so love getting professional advice.
I also love when that advice tells Tom to take his frustration and aggression out on the device that is causing his frustration.
I think that whack did more than fix the motor, it relieved some of my husband’s tension and perhaps, in the long run, saved my marriage. I might be exaggerating just a little.