I knew I should have sacrificed a goat.

Charlie and I had a really good weekend with Dave the Fiance. I was off work today, and Charlie was off school today and Friday, so I took Friday off, and we drove to PA around 2, and spend the long weekend there.

We didn't do anything major, just mostly hung around the house. On Saturday I went to find shoes for my wedding (which I found on sale 60% off so woot) while Charlie and Dave finished stripping off the ugly wall paper in the bathroom. (getting the house ready to go on the market.)

Last night we had dinner, and we played some board games, and then introduced Charlie to the Spanish Inquisition episode of Monty Python, which he loved as much as I expected he would.

I was really happy. I was with people I loved; I felt safe and contented. We had this lovely, low-key weekend, where we just hung out and enjoyed each other's company.

So today when we went to leave PA my stupid bloody car wouldn't start.

Dave has AAA, so the nice guy came, and said it was the starter. Then he said the battery; the NEW battery was 'FUBAR'. BUT...he was able to get it started, so I drove it home and dropped it off at the mechanics. I'm hoping he was wrong about the starter.

Still...it's like I was TOO happy, so something had to happen to knock me down to cloud 7.

Also, why do cars hate me? I never had anything bur affection for cars. My grandfather sold them, for Cliff's sake. Why do they seek to ruin my life all the time?

Sigh.