Part deux

So, back to the car. It seems like it is always something with the cars we (or I) have here, huh? Mainly because my vocabulary about cars and engines and tires is severely lacking. Back in college I was learning words that were a lot more fun like trains and airplanes and traveling and baguettes and chevre and croissants) everything associated with that. We never had a chapter about calling your car insurance company and asking them to send a tow truck over because your clutch just crapped the bucket. Unfortunately I now know a LOT of car-related vocabulary. Also some hospital-related terminology as well…

So, I parked the car OUTSIDE of our gated-in house after being denied at the first “hospital” after I pretty much hypothesized that the clutch had just decided to give out. I told B that he should just call the tow truck and they could pick it up and take it to the garage. But, of course not, no way. He took it on a test drive and said “just pull up the clutch with your foot and it works fine…”

Um, yeah, for like 10 minutes when I am in dead stop traffic with two kids and ice cream in the car and I have to walk everyone and everything up a 4km hill because I don’t drive around with a stroller anymore…

I really don’t want this to be a guy-bashing entry – not that he even knows that this site exists anyway, but, SERIOUSLY!!!! I PARKED THE CAR OUTSIDE OF THE GATE SO THE TOW TRUCK COULD TAKE IT AWAY – FOR FREE!!!!!

We don’t have to pay for tows, which is nice, but not so nice because that means that you need to pay major Euros in maintenance, but at least something is free, right?

Well, fast forward two days later when I was poking him in the side with a back scratcher and saying “REALLY! We NEED to get that little car to the garage to get the clutch fixed because it is not going to work the next time I start it up.”

So, we all load up, (he finally agrees), on a Friday afternoon (the ABSOLUTE WORST TIME IN FRANCE TO TRY TO GET ANYTHING DONE), and head to the Alfa Romeo dealership that is on the road to Cannes.

We get down the big hill that we live on (no need for gears, right?), and start to head up a little hill to one of the busiest roundabouts in Grasse, and SKIP JERK SHUDDER from the little car that I am following.

It stalls.
It doesn’t move.
I put on my hazard lights.
It still doesn’t move.
I get out – get accused of “being in the way”
AHEM – furious!!!!!
Divert traffic around the little black car.
Move black car onto the sidewalk and escort kids to the toy store that just happens to be right there.

Let’s just say that wasn’t the best Friday night in France…

I could go on and on and on and on but I’m sure you are bored.

We finally got a tow, and 4 days later and 800Euros later we got a new clutch and the car works again. And my husband is probably cursing silently because he doesn’t have any tools or his floor jack so he could do the whole job himself for like 300bucks…

So, anyway, my finger gets stitched. It is a ridiculous ordeal.

Totally ripped off I think – especially after speaking with a few others here…

But I can still be a hand model if I want to! Sweet!

So, the car is fixed and my finger is fixed and all is well in the South of France…


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