Ask Mr. Smartypants

This is continued from the last post so if you're lost, it's either because you haven't read that or because I suck like an Electrolux.

So I take Quinn to school in the neighbor's car, getting her there basically on time, the daddy version of on time, anyway, then head home, return the car and call my mechanic.

"What happened."

"It was on fire."

"Which part."

"I'm saying alternator."

"Bring it in."

"'Kay."

Then I called AAA, probably my best investment considering both of our cars have 130,000 miles on them.

And we took the car in and they gave me a loaner and they had it fixed by 3 p.m. and I had it washed and it smelled like new, and then came the dilemma.

The alternator burned up because of an oil leak. They fixed both for $400.

It's a 1996 Sentra that I paid $3,600 for three years ago, so it is currently, even with a repair every six months, the best deal ever. I could probably still get $2,600 for it.

But do I tell my wife, who is due back in town that evening, that any of this even happened.

I handle the money, while she's in charge of the frenzied worrrying.

But if I don't tell her, Quinn will probably give me up.

But if I tell her, she will act as if we need to pawn her shoes. She gets sticker shock like my great-aunt Ethel. Seriously, no matter how little I tell her something was, she's like, "$27 for a new engine. I can't believe it was that much. I figured like $9 max."

So do I just tell her it was $100.

Or do I go with the truth.

I ended up going with "a couple of hundred bucks," which usually leads to a Jack Bauer style interrogation: "Define 'a couple of hundred bucks,' and remember, I have electric clamps and you have sensitive nipples. Very sensitive."

But she must have been tired when she got home because there was no interrogation, little worrying, and all was well.

Which just goes to show ya. I don't know what it goes to show ya, but still.

So Monday, my wife had gone out of town for work and I was responsible for getting Quinn ready for school. I set the alarm, got up early, got her fed and dressed and cut her little hair thingy out of her hair, which is the only way I can ever get them out.

While she was eating, I went out and started the car so it would warm up. This is a big thing with my wife and daughter, it was unheard of in my family growing up. My parents figured if they had to be cold, everybody had to be cold for an equally long period of time.

Then we'd have the "turn up the heat,"

"The engine's not warm yet," arguments.

Regardless, I went out and started the car, went back in for five minutes, and when Quinn and I went out to leave for school, the car was on fire.

Not all flamey and stuff, but just with clouds of blue smoke emerging. So I shut it off ("I don't have to ride in it, do I daddy?" Quinn asked) marched next door and borrowed a neighbor's car, teaching Quinn an important lesson about coming up with new plans in mid-stream.

To be continued tomorrow:

When we left off last week, I was at a big-box retailer, receiptless, attempting to find out if I had purchased an extended warranty on my refrigerator and the dysfunctional ice maker it contained, engaged in a debate with a clerk, trying out a new facial tic and foaming at the mouth.

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the universal replacement ice maker for Whirlpool fridges, and more importantly, the price: $50.

You need to understand, I have no patience for inconvenience. I'm the type of guy who, when I encounter an octogenarian in front of me in line at the Stop'n'Rage arguing about the per-ounce price of pureed prunes, will offer to buy her the prunes and a Zagnut or two if she'll just give it a rest. Offered the choice between listening to a series of keypad options from an automated telephone directory and being beaten with a bag of grapefruit, I will take an old-fashioned citrus whippin' every time.

I wouldn't jump through extended-warranty hoops to save a mere $50. I wouldn't jump through extended warranty hoops to save my left pinkie.

But keeping the price in the $50 range and keeping my heart rate below 203 meant installing the contraption myself, because service calls cost a whole lot of money and arranging them generally includes a frustration rating of ... infinity.

There is a whole subset of guys in the world who could perform such a task with ease, probably without an instruction booklet, possibly without the gift of sight.

There's another whole subset of guys who couldn't install an ice maker given unlimited time, NASA's toolbox and Bob Vila on the speakerphone.

I'm in between, brave enough to try, stupid enough to end up with frantic emergency personnel trying to pry my thorax from the vegetable crisper with the Jaws of Life.

"Is there anyone here who knows a lot about installing these ice makers?" I asked the female clerk.

"Yes. Me," she answered, with a tone that said, "You don't think a woman can fix appliances? One more crack and I will flip you like a cheese omelet."

Me: "Do you think a normal guy could put one in?"

Clerk: "Why, do you know one?"

But she relented and, riveted by her topic, gave me the lowdown.

The thing about the lowdown is, remember when you took geometry? The teacher would be pointing to the board and saying, "So you can see, the corpuscle is equal to the granulations squared and refracted in a prismatic Boolean manner," and you'd be nodding along, thinking, "Well, duh. A blind man could see that."

Then, when you attempted your homework, all you could remember from class was a glimpse you caught of Mary Ellen Farnham's bra strap.

This was kind of like that, minus the bra strap.

It ended up being an average repair job: five trips to two different hardware stores, the purchase of a new tool I needed to do the job, the purchase of a new tool I did not need to do the job ("It's not another sander, honey, it's an orbital sander"), one gaping wound, one mystified Boston terrier and eventually, ice.

The good news is, I remembered to buy the extended warranty on the replacement ice maker.

I think.

I've a serious viral situation going on that I tried to treat yesterday with a 5-mile woods romp and an hour with Quinn at Reedy River (Falls Park).

I no longer recommend such a treatment for flu. I sort of recommedn it as an unusually enjoyable and scenic form of suicide. By 6 p.m. I was afraid I was dying. By 9 p.m. I was afraid I wasn't.

I also have my aunt and uncle in town, and have promised them slow cooked ribs, so I'll be hanging by the grill for about three hours, but I'll do so in a chair, and the weather is pretty nice.

I invariably think I can power through illness, and usually am right, but when I'm wrong I end up so much worse off than if I'd just gone to bed.

And I have my daughter all to myself Sunday and Monday while the wife heads to Charleston for work, so health must be restored.

Quinn is not going to want to hear, "Daddy doesn't feel good, lets just color" when she has me to herself for two days. 

Okay, this is tough.

For one thing, I don't know how they're going to quantify results in almost 50 contests between 2 parties.

But here's my best bets, just on popular vote states. I'm not doing caucuses.

McCain is going to take every Republican state, with the exception of Huckabee's home state of Arkansas and Romney's Massachusetts. Huckabee will not be able to convert in the south, Romney will miss by a nose in California. Romney will drop out of the race within 4 days. Within 14 days, Huckabee will be announced as McCain's running mate.

 Tonight's national popular vote tally:

McCain: 50 percent

Romney: 38 percent

Huckabee: 12 percent

The popular vote on the Dem side tonight will be almost a tie, but Obama will edge Clinton out by just a bit. Clinton, currently ahead by about 70 delegates, will end the night just under 100 dlegates ahead. But it will be protrayed as an Obama victory.

Tonight's national popular vote tally:

Obama: 51 Percent

Clinton: 49 percent