I`m going to show y`all a picture and then I`ll just sit here at the kitchen table, sipping my coffee while you look at it and try to figure it out.
Okay, so, I figure you`re now asking yourself ‘Why is there a stick jammed under the handle of your truck door, Vicki?’ Well, the answer is kind of an embarrassing one but heck, I`ve revealed more embarrassing things about myself on these blog pages then this before.
It all started last week. Miss and I got in the truck to go down for the bus in the morning. I got situated and tugged the driver side door closed. It bounced back open. Huh. That was weird I thought and tried again. This time it latched. So, off we go like two merry monkeys down to wait for the bus.
After the teen is on her way I drive back up, park the truck and exit with Trinity. Trinity always rides down to the bus. It is her duty to carry my keys back to the house daily for they are heavy and I am old and feeble, in her mind. Again, I close the door and it springs back at me. I check to make sure the seatbelt isn`t in the way. It isn`t. I study the problem for a moment and then slam the door soundly. It flies back at me. Huh. So, doing what I do best, I get myself behind the door and slam it with all I have.
The door simply squeaks back open and hangs there. Well this isn`t going to work I decide while Trinity is dancing around with jingling keys dangling from her mouth. I can`t just leave the door open. What if it rains? What if the chickens and turkeys decide the inside of my truck looks like a good place to roost and preen? I go off and find a chunk of fire wood and jam it up into the door.
And then I wait for Mister to get home. He does. I stand in the kitchen window and watch as he drinks in the door and chunk of fire wood. Inside he comes after a moment.
“What`s with the wood?” he asks. I explain what occurred. I get the ‘Dear Lord, spare me from women’ look and he heads outside to check things out. Within two minutes he returns.
“What did you do?” he inquires.
“Well, I tried to shut it. I even poked at the hooky thing with my keys to turn it, but it wouldn`t turn, so I just slammed it a few times hoping it would latch.”
“You know all that slamming did was bust the latch inside the door, right?”
“Uhm, no,” I muttered.
And there we are. The door won`t close so a stick is now holding it shut until Mister can work on it. He did manage to rig up a ratchet strap that goes from the passenger side handle to the driver’s side door, which keeps the door from bouncing and rattling when I go down the driveway and back up.
We are living, breathing examples of ‘You might be a Redneck if….”