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Mah. Poah. Cah. - Blather. Rants. Repeat.
A Møøse once bit my sister ...
Mah. Poah. Cah.
People ask (one just did), So, how's that Smart car handle in the snow?

To which I happily reply, Just fine. Traction control, ABS, the works.  Just don't pull out of the driveway too slowly after the town plow plugs up the apron.

Now what they SHOULD ask is how he is in the cold. To which I'd have to reply, Meh.

I left way early today; Ebony got me up when Eleanor started running a bath, and she and the kitzels would all be annoying the shit out of both of us if I stuck around. I knew Eleanor was calling in sick from something that felled her yesterday, and figured I'd be less of a noisy bother if I just got out. So I hit the office here by 7:30, with a workout to follow at 8:15,....

and with JARVIS's tire pressure warning message going off.

This was no surprise, really. The day I picked him up, a similarly stupid cold day, it did the same. Eleanor's had it happen on her Smarts in the real brutal cold, as well.  So I hoped it would clear once the temperature went up- as it might have, if the damn temperature ever did.  Even though the sun's out, it's still reading 20F on the dashboard thermometer, and the code's still there.  Kermit did this a lot in this kind of weather, as well; and I hate that even though the sensor knows damn well which tire(s) popped the code, the display doesn't tell you, so you have to check air pressure on all four.

Thus suitably annoyed, after the workout I headed over to Wegmans and wound up being cashed out four times in under half an hour.  First was for breakfast; second was to pick up a scrip; and third was for a new digital thermometer to bring home since the old one's battery died, OF COURSE!, as soon as Eleanor felt a fever and turned it on for the first time in weeks or longer.  (They didn't have the replacement size, and even if they did it likely would've cost almost as much as a replacement thermometer anyway.)

I got out to the parking lot and texted if she wanted me to bring it home right away. No, she said, but could I pick up some ginger ale and Saltines. Yes, it's one of those bugs.  No rush, she said, but as I backed out and turned on my wipers, I knew I'd be heading back to a register for a fourth time: JARVIS was out of washer fluid.

Really?  You'd think those anal Germans would've made sure a car with 29 miles on the odometer would be sent out with a full reservoir.  Grumbling, I found a gallon of the stuff in the backest corner of the store (the usual mountain in the vestibule having been picked clean and/or replaced with Valentines Day decorations), filled the rest of the Care package order, popped the car's hood for the first time, and saw, what else?, a full reservoir.

I tried clearing snow off the squirty things. No luck.  When I got home, I toothpicked them. Still none.  They were, and still are, clogged, leading to this text exchange between me and the missus; she begins talking about the tires:

Barum bum.

I'm finishing up a day that fell in between Wednesday's Talking-To and Thursday's Semi-Redemption.  I have court hearings every day next week, counting one that I think is just a control date I can call in on.  Here's hoping I'll be able to see where I'm going the whole time.
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