The Pastor is not having a good day.
He wanted to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine, and went to take the Mustang convertible for a drive, possibly the last drive of the year before it hibernates. #FAIL. The Mustang ended up in the shop.
As the Pastor was walking home from dropping the Mustang off, I drove by him. He hopped in my red Honda.
We turned the corner, and I don't know the technical, mechanical terms for this, but my transmission fell out.
Off to vehicle #3. (Did I mention our blue Honda died last week and we are still mourning the loss?) The Pastor and I ran an errand, got back in the van and it took two tries to start it. I'm convinced it started on the second try because of the fervent prayers I started praying after the the false start.
What a relief. We'll go eat bar-b-q to cheer the Pastor up! Nope, the bar-b-q coupon expired two days ago.
God was clearly telling the Pastor to not go anywhere. Let's just get a Red Box and go home. We went to Red Box machine #1, ordered up our movies, dispense #FAIL. On to Red Box machine, #2, also not working.
This series of events started after the Pastor thought it would be hilarious to not hang up my dish towel correctly on the oven handle.
That will teach him. And God? You've punished him enough. I'm sure he'll be more respectful of the dish towel from now on, and he won't leave jelly to permanently affix itself to the sink.