It was inevitable. My loyal T-Hoe is on his last legs. In fact, one of those legs needs replacing.
Remember a couple of weeks ago, when the Hillbilly family was all ready to trade in T-Hoe for a few years newer model, with less miles? Had spent a week researching the ins and outs of this transaction? Had, in fact, stayed up late the night before to make sure on some comparisons, with a backup plan ready?
Farmer H threw one of his hissy fits 30 minutes before departure time for this deal. So...Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is still driving T-Hoe. Still informing Farmer H that he is now down to 4% OIL LIFE! That's not good. Get the crash cart! Notify the life support team!
Farmer H came home form work this morning, as we are dealing with a minor crisis. Possibly major. It is not up for discussion. So we took T-Hoe on our journey. Once home again, Farmer H took T-Hoe for new oil. Then he called and said our appraisal is finally ready for my mom's house. So he wanted me to notify my sister the ex-mayor's wife to cut him a check from Mom's account to pay for the appraisal, which was no problem at all, since we've been waiting on it, but it meant that Farmer H would be driving T-Hoe over the same terrain we covered this morning. AND...when he got home, he informed me that T-Hoe's belt is showing. Uh huh. T-Hoe's left front tire belt. Not even the tire that had the giant bolt in it.
Of course, since Farmer H and the #1 son were instrumental in picking T-Hoe out of the herd way back in 2008, we have those fancy tires that are not a standard size stocked by The Devil's Playground Garage. Farmer H put in an order for two tires, because, you know, T-Hoe tires are like Lay's Potato Chips...nobody can eat just one. Not that we'll be eating T-Hoe's tires. But we can't have just one. I'm sure that's what that Lay's slogan-writer meant to say. "Nobody can have just one."
Now I will be driving around on a tire with a bald spot tomorrow morning to meet Sis and go through some more stuff at the house.
Life should be easier than this.