Dear Kid,

You’d best sit down for the News of The Day.

Yesterday, Dad dented the new car with his butt. Inevitably, this caused Pi to discuss Buns of Steel in great detail (and much hilarity).

Apparently, Dad used his posterior to close the car door, and somehow his muscularity cause such force as to dent the Imprezza.

I don’t know how one non-hulk-like human can butt-close a door and leave a dent. I wonder if a butt-dent would be admissible in court (the way fingerprints are)….

In other news, he also broke my iron yesterday. It’s not like the iron gets a lot of use in our house, but I’ve had it longer than I’ve had Dad, so it was a little sad.

In other breakage news from yesterday, Pi’s phone turned on but refused to light up the screen. Since actually being able to see the screen is important for sending and receiving communication, she didn’t think this was such a fab idea.

I will spare you the details of failed cell phone resuscitation (you’re welcome) and skip right to the “we went for new phones today.”

Replacing our phones mostly wasn’t voluntary. Cincinnati Bell decided they no longer wish to be in the cell phone business. So we knew we were going to have to switch carriers, but hadn’t planned to do it quite yet.

Pi and I drove up to the Verizon store, walked in, and were greeted with “Hi Pi.” It was the general manager, and he didn’t call her Pi, but he did greet her by name. The general manager of that location is the father of a football teammate and proudly introduced Pi to our sales dude as “our kicker.” Being “our kicker” gets you pretty darn good treatment. Still doesn’t make buying new phones phun.

Several years later, we walked out with enough to technology to compute pretty much everything we might ever want—and even the ability to phone home. Dad is displeased with the cell case we chose for him and has gone back to See About Alternatives (my money says he’ll come back with exactly what we got him).

I still can’t believe he dented the car door with his butt.

Hope you’re having a good Saturday.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I’m not sure if you ever noticed, but I am not a car expert (ok, you can stop rolling your eyes now). I know how to drive them, I know how to put gas in them, and I generally know how to add windshield wiper fluid (since I consider windshield wiper fluid almost as important as gasoline). Also, I can tell what color they are. Other than that, I am fairly hopeless. (And that’s Just Fine as far as I’m concerned, so please no one offer to teach me anything more.)

You’ll doubtless (without a doubt) be delighted to know that after driving the Green Car for 16 years, we have finally replaced it with the Blue Car. I’m considering naming the vehicle, but nothing has presented itself as the obvious choice. Suggestions welcome.

The Blue Car is a Subaru Forester. I’m sure you’re going to want to know all about features and functions. Did I mention it’s blue? Marine blue if you want to be technical about it. Actually it’s less of a car and more of a drivable computer. Seriously–I drove home using the car as a phone. Up to now, phones have pretty much been pieces of equipment that you can pick up. Now, the phone carries you. One super cool feature (that I understand and remember) is that it has heated windshield wipers and side mirrors. Not so important at this time of year, but I am thrilled that I’ll have them this winter.

Kyle (the Fabulous Sales Dude Who Isn’t a Pushy Sales Dude At All) was going to show me all sorts of things about the car. Turns out he overbooked and so Dad and I went shoe shopping. For HIM. I didn’t even see a pair of shoes I wanted to try on. He got shoes and I got a Diet Coke. Somewhere the Universe is having a good chuckle.

When we got back, Kyle (FSDWIPSDAA) was still busy (Note to Kyle: Don’t blow off people who have their own blog) so the helpful Ruben took us through the manual. I was amazingly polite and patient given that—did I mention—it’s a car not a pair of shoes. Then again, I can’t remember anyone ever insisting on reviewing the owner’s manual for a pair of sling backs.

Also, I’ve never had to make lease payments on a pair of shoes (not for lack of trying, mind you).

After that, we went over the car. Which, as I mentioned, can do pretty much everything except make coffee. And Ruben and Kyle got my phone connected through the car. (This may not seem very impressive, I know, but it is so I’m bothering telling you so. Extra points for catching the reference. Extra points to the dudes for setting up the phone since my Blackberry is pretty much older than dirt.)

I cannot begin to tell you how glad I am this process is over. Seriously. Car shopping, swim suit shopping, getting weighed at the doctor’s office are pretty much all equally vile ways to spend time imho.

But having the new car. That is fun. I intend to spend all of lunch tomorrow putting names and phone numbers into my car so that I can call people through my steering wheel at will.

When I got home Pi and Booker came out to the garage to see the new car. You could see Booker’s furry little thought process: Someone is here! How exciting! What is this car doing on Mom’s side of the garage? Wait, Mom is in the weird car! MUST GO SEE MOMMY!!!!! Huh? She’s about three stories up….that looks a little scarey….MOMMY, MOMMY, MOMMY!!!!…yup, that is very high and it’s not my car. I have to go sniff a blade of grass.

Dad thinks it will be a marvy idea to take the Blue Car and get dirt for the new planting area. Pi and I do not share his opinion of marvy-ness. I understand the whole “thing” about a Subaru is to use them and get them dirty, but nowhere does it say he has to do that to my car. Besides, he has a Subaru that will serve the purpose just fine.

In other news, the new planting area is still not ready.

It will be several many years until I go through this again (Dad is On His Own when it is time to replace his vehicle). Unless they come out with a car that knows how to make coffee. In which case, I may be visiting Kyle (FSDWIPSDAA) sooner than planned.

Hope Day 2 of classes is as good as Day 1.

Love, Mom