Sorry About the Pants Joke.

Dear Dad,

Once again, you’ve saved me. My car is running, and has four matching wheels. (Which is more important? The matching wheels, of course.)

You drove over to my house last night after my lifting class, toting a battery charger, a spoon I left at the Memorial Day picnic, and a coupon for Thai food that my mom clipped from the local newspaper. I was all ready to call Morrie’s Saab to tell them to have a new alternator waiting, to the tune of $400 plus labor. I was also beginning to suspect that there was something to my car sharing a country of origin with IKEA’s entire product line, and that perhaps it had been assembled with a hex key and a schematic diagram with instructions in a language no human speaks.

We poked around under the hood of the car and you discovered that the battery had no water. We filled it and jumped the car again. That very moment, god and all his angels descended from heaven to bless the starting of my recovered vehicle. We decided to take the opportunity to take it to the gas station and fill the nearly-flat ultra-sexy donut tire, with the barest hope that the car would actually start the next morning and I would be able to drive it to the tire shop.

I proceeded to take the slowest cruise through my neighborhood ever, due partially to the flat rear tire, and partially to the fact that I was working through a mild attack of insulin shock and was trying to keep conscious by hunching over the wheel and talking to myself as I drove. You followed patiently, then filled the tire for me while I sat on the curb groaning, occasionally reading off the markings on the pressure gauge, since you didn’t have your reading glasses along.

When we got back to my house, I shut off the car. It restarted perfectly. You stood around for a few minutes to make sure that everything was in order, then got in the big purple minivan. I thanked you, and you replied, “Oh, you know. I like to help you guys.”

I might be turning 30 this week, but I still rely on you as much as ever. Maybe even more. You’re the best.

Love,
Jenni

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