When It Rains...

Gregory was late returning home last night. Very late. About half two this morning, I was awakened by doorbell ringing and fist pounding. I was rather in a haze, but lucid enough to realise his car was not parked in the driveway.

The Caddy had died, and he waited several hours for AAA to send a tow. Then he left both his house keys and the garage door remote in the bloody car.

Initial diagnosis: blown radiator, blown head gasket. Long story shortened, it seems we are going to be car shopping this weekend. And I'm going to be cashing out at least one more CD—this one well before it matures.

What the hell, I don't need to retire to Provence or Tuscany...