Not cooking, not a comeback, BUT A CONSPIRACY.

So, ya’ll, it’s been a while.  Rest assured, I probably am not coming back to blogging regularly, or even semi-regularly, or anything even remotely close to regular. What I am doing is sharing with you a story. A story of hilarity.

So, a  few weeks ago I finally gave up the ol’ Buick and bought myself a shiny new (kind of) Prius.  I loved the idea of getting awesome gas mileage. Also I loved the idea of having hatchback. Also I loved the idea of holding it over everyone else’s heads that my car is nice to the earth and theirs is busy flipping off Mother Earth.  Things happen. Whatever.

So, The Republi-Dad is taking care of getting me tags (don’t ask. Long story.) and I asked the dealership to kindly send the title to The Republi-Dad, promising that they wouldn’t have to talk to his crazy … self.  So here we are, 10 days til my temporary tag expires and The Republi-Dad has not recieved a title. I go in and check on it with the dealership, they were WONDERFULLY nice, saying  ”Oh, looks like it was sent out the 5th of the month!” I naturally assume The Republi-Dad lost it on his table-o-mail (trust me guys, this thing is amazing…YEARS of mail on this table.)

I text him and say “it should be there, they sent it the 5th. Check your table.”

OH MAN, INTERNET. That was a mistake. This is when the stuff hit the fan. THE STUFF. FAN. HARD. BLOWING EVERYWHERE.

The Republi-Dad calls me after work with fire in his eyes (ears? mouth? we were on the phone and all.) Then for 15 minutes, I swear to you, FIF-TEE-NUH MI-NU-TESSSSSSSS, he goes on and on about how this is a conspiracy. That the dealer is just messing with us. That the car doesn’t even have a title. That we will take it back and get our money back. That we will send the credit union after them. Seriously. 15 minutes of this.  It mostly included a lot of me saying “yeah.” “ok.” Sure, Republi-Dad.”

So drop in at the dealership again and they are again, absolutely wonderful, starting the process on the duplicate title while I was standing there, telling me that if for some reason I wasn’t able to get the tags in time they’d put me in a courtesy car, that they were personally going to send a runner to the house of the previous owners to get the papers signed. Seriously, this place could not have done any more for me.  I think I will bake them cookies (LOOK! IT IS ABOUT COOKING!).  Anyway. I mentioned to them the conspiracy. Then we all had a hearty laugh.

Republi-Dad actually lives in a house with Abbie Hoffman and that is where this all comes from.

Dear Republi-Dad,

It’s not a conspiracy.  No one would involve a Prius in a conspiracy. I promise.

Love,

Your FTHW.

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