Took this picture right before we left Disney to show just how huge Kent's hands are. My hands are not small ... trust me!

Well, the mystery of The Noise in my car was solved yesterday in quite dramatic fashion. I'd checked the oil, and it was fine, so I knew that wasn't what was causing the Noise. And the car seemed to be running fine, so I figured that I'd get it checked out on my weekend (which started today.) I was driving home on Monday though (with the car still making The Noise) when suddenly, just over a mile from my house, there was a huge POW and my car engine started making a Really Horrible Noise. My first thought: "Oh [expletive] I've thrown a rod."

So I put the clutch in and coasted to a parking lot, killed the engine, and got the celphone out. The folks weren't home though, and, well, I have no friends (heh) so I got out and opened the hood (which actually opened first try!) Of course I know Jack Diddly Crap about engines, so lifting the hood did nothing except allow me to verify that yes, the engine was still there, and no there were no engine parts sticking out of places that they probably shouldn't have been sticking out of. (Though I might not have recognized that either.) I briefly considered walking the rest of the way home, but even though it was only barely over a mile, I was still in my work clothing, i.e. suit and heels and had no desire to kill my feet that thoroughly.

However, there was a fire station about 50 feet away, so I put on my best Helpless Damsel mode and walked over there. There was some fireman-person in the garage area, so I said, in best Helpless Damsel manner, "Does anyone here know cars? I've broken down." Well, Mr. Fireman had an instant testosterone rush when I said that and puffed right up.

So, he looked under the hood and instantly found the problem. Turns out that I'd blown a spark plug out. (Yay! No total engine replacement!) He went back and got the appropriate tool, put the plug back in, and voila! My car was fixed, and no more Noise!

Yes, I know, it can be annoying to my quasi-feminist sensibilities to do the Helpless Damsel routine, but if men are gonna fall for it, what the hell, eh?

So, we had no mail on Sunday, because the wusses in the postal service can't rotate schedules so that we get mail service 7 days a week. And there was no mail yesterday because of some federal holiday that I didn't even get holiday pay for. (And yes, of course I had to work it!) And today is Mardi Gras, so yet another day with no mail. Three straight days of no mail. I'm jonesing bad.

I scrawled a note to myself here, I assume to remind myself of something. "117 mirrors." I have no idea what that's supposed to mean.