I should be outside gardening.
Or brushing Tikka.
Fur is coming out of her by the handfuls.
As is evidenced by the tufts of Tikka hair dotting the landscape of Stephen's grandmothers red Persian rug.
And the number of vacuum cleaner bags we're going through.
Or is that Stephen's vacuuming ocd?
I can never remember.
This week has been about dealing with cars.
This morning, after getting up early to take Em's car to Extreme Clean for its shampoo and thorough inside cleaning that was double booked so now we have return on Monday, we went to our insurance agency and had Em's car added to our insurance.
This was necessary to facilitate the process of my brother's gifting the car to me.
He can't gift it directly to Em.
That would just be too simple.
So I met my brother Service New Brunswick. . .a place I have been spending far too much time in this month, to finalize the transfer to the car.
I had the temporary proof of insurance.
We won't get the permanent one until Canada Post decides to go back to work.
No mail for two weeks.
I am genuinely afraid of how much mail we'll receive when someone finally takes a stand and does something to meet the pension needs of the postal workers.
Anyway. . .
Armed with the proof of insurance, which was all we were told we needed by the man at the reception desk, we took our number and waited.
Of course, the insurance wasn't enough.
Proof of valid inspection was also needed.
While Jerry and I swore the information on the affidavit was correct, meaning I actually was his sister and not his mother. . . that kind of thing, and Jer signed everything over, he was done and was able to head off home, I had to wait for Stephen to drive back home, get the proof of valid inspection and collect Em because she had to work at 4.30.
Sitting, again in Service New Brunswick.
Soon they'll start charging me rent.
But the car is now registered to me, it's insured and Em has her conservation plates with the bird on them.
And the car shits and giggles continue. . . .
Our car also needed its routine oil and filter change this week.
Every 5000 kms.
And Em's car needed its back brake light, the third eye as I like to call it, replaced.
Had Stephen not noticed it when he was driving behind us one day, we would have never known.
Em had never been to Riverview Ford, where Stephen insists on taking our car, and as we were addressing her car, I insisted she come with us.
Everybody should be indoctrinated into the trials and tribulations of car repairs as soon as possible.
She got off light with my cousin.
He didn't force her to wait in a poorly appointed lounge, with too few chairs and a bunch of elderly people glued to the small tv listening to Dr. Phil spewing more misinformation and ill will.
I really, really can't stand Dr. Phil.
Not only was the waiting room full, they were running behind and wouldn't even get to our cars for at least another hour.
And what does the typical teenage girl and her youngish mother do when faced with the possibility of having to spend an afternoon in the service department of a dealership?
They leave.
For the mall.
Stephen was no more excited about hanging out at the dealers, so at the dealer's expense, we took a cab to the mall, which then took Stephen back to the house.
For some reason he just didn't want to spend his afternoon in the mall.
I can't imagine why not.
Em had a mall agenda.
She always does.
First on her list of stops: Aerie.
Overpriced, undersized and heaven for Emily.
No bras over a 36D.
Dresses and shorts that wouldn't fit around my ankle.
I stayed as long as I could.
When Em was paying for her purchases, I went to Reitmans.
One, I didn't want to know how much she was spending.
Two, I needed to escape into the real world where women have boobs bigger than a 36D and waist sizes over a 5.
Hello Reitmans Plus Size section!
I really didn't plan on getting anything.
There really wasn't anything I needed.
However. . .
There was a $36.00 top marked down to $9.99.
My size.
Nice color.
Last one.
I bought it.
Of course I did.
After shopping Em announced she was hungry and could she take me out for lunch?
As if she had to ask.
We went to Smitty's with their SFL menu.
I said we could go to the food court, but Em replied she wanted to be waited on.
That's my child!
Over lunch in the very quiet restaurant. . .it was 2.30 so the only other patrons were two men and a woman sitting at booth very close to ours.
One man was trying to convince the other into joining some money making scheme.
I don't know what the woman was there for as she said absolutely nothing.
Still, in between my conversation with Em, it was nice to eavesdrop on what others were saying.
Sociologist as voyeur.
And I am just too easy to entertain.
My nemesis, the cell phone, has been causing me innumerable challenges this week.
First, Mer is presently cellphoneless.
A result of her continues flouting of the rules, her refusal to remain within plan boundaries.
Her owing a lot of money.
Money that must be paid before her phone will be reactivated.
Plan on calling her around next August.
So.
Twice this week Em and I found ourselves no longer connected to the network.
Meaning twice this week I found myself spending time I don't have or want to spend talking with Telus representatives.
I have been paying down the bill.
In increments.
It's too much for me to pay off at once.
I know. Mer should be paying it.
And she is.
In increments.
But Telus doesn't care.
They want so much of the bill paid in order to keep the phones operational.
And I have been doing that.
However, they were disconnecting me.
Every second day.
Yesterday, I lost my temper.
And only then did we FINALLY figure out that they were crediting the payment to the wrong account.
I'll say it again.
I.
Hate.
Cellphones.
Cellphones aside, things with Mer have been pretty good lately.
Last evening we had planned on seeing a movie, but she wanted to see Midnight in Paris and I would rather eat armpit hair than see a Woody Allen film.
So we went for a walk downtown instead.
A much better idea.
We're both moving, not confined in a small space, and we both were desperate for fresh air.
We had a lovely time.
I actually didn't want it to end, but my body and brain were sending out all sorts of signals that exhaustion was imminent.
Remember, we started our day very early.
Protesting.
So by 9.00 pm last evening, after ambling all over downtown for a couple of hours, I was tired.
And Mer had plans with Keith and their friends.
Something about Dolan's, an Irish pub downtown.
Agreeing that this was something we both enjoyed, we have decided to do it again.
Time with Mer that doesn't cost me anything?
Priceless.
Plus, the child loves having her picture taken.
Literally from the moment she was hauled from the womb.
And she tolerated me taking pictures of things that weren't her.
Ah, maturity.
Your short lived stay was most enjoyed. . .
Title Lyric: Repair Blues by Alan Jackson
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