Bad things come in threes -- don't they?

An old superstition suggests that bad things come in threes. I choose to believe that right now, but I’m not certain if one of the items I am about to suggest actually qualifies as a ‘bad thing’ or just a pissoff. I like to think it’s a bad thing because that would mean we’ve had our three and the demons and/or gremlins of the universe will let us off the hook, believing we have completed our turn for now.

The bad thing/minor pissoff consists of the sash chord on our kitchen window blind having broken, meaning that we have to hold the window covering up with rubber bands. I know, it’s a thing that is irritating, even irksome, but I’m not entirely sure about the ‘bad’ part. It all depends on the perspective, I think. As I said, I want to think it is bad, and that is what I choose to do.

The other two, since our return early in the week, are more nefarious. They consist of the washing machine having imploded and suffered a complete nervous, or transmission, breakdown. You don’t replace a major component like a washer transmission. You renew. So, we marched smartly off to Sear’s and told the guy to give is the most absolute cheap-shit washer they had in stock.

“Wouldn’t you rather have a brand-new, front-loading washer dryer combo?” he asked.

“Of course I would,” I replied. “I’d also like to have a vacation retreat on Kauai and drive a Porsche, but reality dictates that right now we can handle the purchase of a crappola top-loader, so that’s what we want. Lay it on us.”

Well, they did have such an item, and we purchased it. However, they didn’t actually have it in stock; only a display model. So, we had to wait. And, as of this juncture we are awaiting it’s delivery. Not waiting with avid anticipation, but waiting because the necessity of many dirty clothes from our travels calling for laundering. Calling plaintively and despairingly.

The third of the three (I am sticking with my three, you’ll note) is that yesterday I set forth in my car to tend to some business in town. I was happy to have it out because it had been sitting idle for nearly six weeks. We’ve had Wendy’s out, but had left mine in the garage because there was still a lot of snow around prior to yesterday. Anyway, I fired it up and it ran like a charm. So, I set forth on my errands.

In the early part of the journey I stopped at a local store to pick something up. I picked it up. I went back to my car and turned the key. It started – and then it died. Odd, thought I. My car doesn’t do that. It is infinitely reliable. It doesn’t stall. I won’t stand for that sort of behavior. I turned it over again; it started; it died again. I was becoming distressed. I turned it over again. It sputtered. It tried to start, but it didn’t accomplish the task. It was like a drunk trying to make love. The will and desire were there, but the attainment was impossible. My car was flaccid in its performance. I turned it over, and over, and over, and eventually the battery died. I felt like I was once again driving one of the beaters I had in university. I called Wendy on my cell and told her to call the Automobile Association for a tow-truck. She then came down to wait for the truck with me. I was hoping against hopes that it was just water in the fuel-line. The tow truck guy came. He put jumpers on the car and cranked it over and over. Nothing happened. He looked in the gas tank and said: “I think your fuel pump isn’t working. Those were words I did not want to hear. I didn’t want to hear them because I knew they were probably true. Fuel pumps on an import cost about $500. “Take it away,” I told him, giving him the name of my garage. He did so. A call from my mechanic later confirmed my fears.

So now, I am awaiting the fixing of my car; the arrival of the cheapshit washer, and we still have to get the blind fixed. And I choose to think the blind repair is most definitely a bad thing.