The tale of an endless string of bullshit that might not only seem implausible, but has all the potential motivation for getting rat-arsed and banged up on sauce.

It all started with Veruca’s insulin pump, which was no longer under warranty. I called Animas, the company who produces her pump, to get a head start on acquiring a new one and … just how much of this $6,000 device was coming out of our pockets?

The sales guy asked if anything was wrong with the current pump (no warranty notwithstanding) – because insurance companies typically don’t want to fix what aint broke. Turns out I didn’t have to dig deep. While I was on the phone with him, I asked V if I could see her pump. She hands it to me and there’s a nasty crack around the cartridge compartment – a potentially dangerous situation and don’t use this pump because it’s dangerous. This isn’t our first rodeo. Somebody has a habit of over-tightening the cap on the compartment and this has happened before. Oh, and for the record, it isn’t ME.

So we start the process. Our insurance company covered the full cost. Woohoo! I was so happy. Until five days later when Animas announced they were going out of business and all pump holders would be transitioning to another pump company. I was so angry. And stressed. There was more drama over it, but I’m over it. For now.

Meanwhile, back in the garage….

The 2012 Mustang. One Friday evening, Todd went to start it and … nothing. Dead battery. Pressed for time, he took my car. A few days later, my 7-month-new car decided to take a seizure on my way to work. Todd took it to the dealership in town, who essentially accused him of not maintaining the car, told him there was only a quart of oil left in it and contained metal shavings, and the engine was blowing smoke.

They’d need to tear down the engine to determine the cause, and until they tore the engine down they couldn’t determine whether it would be covered under warranty or not. Todd called bullshit and told them he was taking the car home. The receipt stated that customer failed to produce receipts (of maintenance) and was “taking vehicle with known internal engine issue.” Way to piss off my husband, guys. (He rarely calls me at work, but this day he called me on a rant that literally had all my anxiety nodes tingling with electricity.)

He called the original dealership that sold us the car to arrange for a tow. Ford will tow your vehicle to their dealership at no cost. Or, at least at no cost up to 35 miles. We live exactly 38 miles from the dealer who sold us the car. So it was going to cost I-don’t-know-how-much to tow it the extra 3 miles, and so THEN he called AAA who would tow it but wouldn’t tow it until the dealership opened because someone has to “receive it.”  (This is a new one. And even the dealership was perplexed.)

The happy ending to this story: the dealer found no metal shavings, and – shockingly – no smoke blowing from the engine. Turned out a cylinder-6 spark plug needed to be replaced – a known problem among this particular model. And, OMG, they didn’t have to tear down the engine. Oh yeah – and it didn’t cost a thing.

Meanwhile, back in the driveway, the Ford Fiesta, which was residing with another family member for the past 3 years, came back to us. The timing was good, since I needed to switch cars that fateful morning. But this car is like a petulant child you have to coax into doing shit. You have to turn the key in the ignition just so far, and hold your foot on the brake for 30 seconds. Then, after those 30 seconds, turn the key all the way and it will start. Yeah, that’s right. Ridiculous. This is so not a good feature for someone with anxiety who is also perpetually late. Or if you’re being chased by zombies.

During all this drama, the 2012 got a new battery. Then I decided to take the 2001 convertible out last Saturday afternoon and, since I was running late, I tried starting it and IT wouldn’t start. Todd was in the garage with me and said, wait a minute! I can fix this. He jumped the car, and told me it’ll be fine now, it too has a brand new battery. Um, … okay…… BUT, there was no gas in it. SO – he dumped a gallon and half into the tank while I’m sitting in the car. Because motorheads always have gas and tools. Enough to get me to Veruca’s softball game.

It was a beautiful day, a beautiful ride. When the game was over, I went to turn the key in the ignition and …. Nothing. Son of a bitch. I flagged down my ex, his wife, and my kid as they were leaving, while I called Todd who insisted that it must be a loose connection, because it’s a brand new battery, after all. So, the ex got to be the hero and held the connector to the battery and the engine started right up. It was just cracked and needed to be replaced. But still – I still needed gas and I sure as hell wasn’t stopping because I’d need to shut off the car again. Ugh. I hate cars sometimes.

And here’s why. I inherited a 1977 Audi Fox when I turned 16. Nice car right? Wrong. It was all kinds of wrong. My best friend dubbed it the boogeymobile, after the shade of green it was. It was a standard transmission, and I was driving it long before I was truly skilled in the fine [smooth] art of stick shift. And then it started breaking down – at intersections, back in the days before cell phones when you had to rely on the kindness of strangers and the nearest pay phone. This car is the reason I have anxiety every time I drive an “older” car.

So all the car situations got all straightened out. (Except for our Fiesta’s special needs.) Todd replaced the thingy that connects the battery to the whatever-that-starts-the-car. And then my front tooth cracked off. (Not at the exact same moment.)

Well, it’s not exactly my tooth. So, my secret is out. I’ve had composite on the top 6 front teeth since I was 14. I’m of the generation when fluoride stained adult teeth with white spots. My previous dentist repaired this front tooth about 2 years ago and he literally drilled off a huge part of my natural tooth, which not only makes me furious, but he did a shitty-ass job and there continued to be a thin line on the surface that he couldn’t seem to smooth over.

So last week the composite just cracked off, coincidentally right where that thin line was, revealing the ugly truth I’ve been worried about since he did that. I’ve since changed dentists, who fixed it temporarily so I could be seen in public – which lasted a whole hour and I had to go back the next morning for the real fix.

Epilogue

The ’01 and the ’12 are running beautifully. My car is running like a new car again. The Fiesta still needs 30 seconds to get pumped for trip to the supermarket. Veruca has a brand new Animas insulin pump with a warranty which will protect her until Metronic replaces it free of charge during the transition in the next two years. I have a beautiful front tooth again but know that forty years from now I’ll be sitting in a nursing home with a half a tooth. Maybe that’s what they mean about being good to your kids now… so they’ll pay for your teeth later?