And Too All The Cows I Can Only Say, I'm Sorry.

Let me assure you, lest you were terribly worried, this is not going to turn into some manly car blog, but I do have one more thing to tell you about Big Bertha Large Marge Gigantor the still unnamed new car.

The evening we picked her up we took her and the little borrowed tan Toyota to the do it yourself car wash. They both needed a bath. The guy who owned her first lived out in the country and he smashed many bugs on the windshield on his trip to deliver her. If there is one thing a new car ought to be, it’s clean. Plus we felt we should give back the little borrowed tan Toyota without all the little kid smudges. So off we go to the car wash.

We washed the little borrowed tan Toyota in 2.3 seconds and then Sir D spent the next half an hour cleaning Big Bertha Large Marge Gigantor the still unnamed new car. He sprayed and sprayed and sprayed that windshield until there was no sign of the bug killing atrocity that had occurred on her way to greet us.

We then drove the two sparkling cars to my friend’s house to drop off the now gleaming little borrowed tan Toyota. She and her children came out to see our new semi car. After a few minutes of ooh’s and aah’s the horn started making quick little honks, then longer and longer until finally it was continuous. Now let me stop to explain that his is not your average car horn. This is not the little ‘excuse me please’ sound that came from the little borrowed tan Toyota. No, this is a ‘MOVE OR BE KILLED’ kind of sound from a mean testosterone laden rig. It was a tad alarming to all the children, and my friend who had babies sleeping in the house, and the neighbors, and really anyone within a 5 mile radius.

As we’ve only owned the car for a matter of hours, Sir D did not know where the fuse box was or where the horn thingie (see, if this were turning into a manly car blog, I’d know the technical terms) was located under the hood.

As he and Bob, flailed about in the dark to try and find out how to shut up Bertha, the rest of us held our ears. My friend laughed and asked if the previous owner mentioned its horn problem. Hahaha, not funny and no he did not.

Before it stopped completely it made a sound that was what I can only imagine, a very similar sound a cow makes right before being slaughtered. Cows all over town cowered in horror. Then, finally, mercifully, the horn burnt out and silence once again reigned. Well as much silence as one can have with 7 kids bouncing about. And why is it that kids are energized by racket when adults are exhausted by it? Hummm, a post for another time.

The next day Sir D spent much time pondering the horn incident. What would have caused it? Why would it have done that? And more importantly, how much will it cost to fix?

Because he is brilliant, he came upon the answer to the cause. Water. He came home after work and gathered his sons for a little test. He sprayed water from the hose onto the windshield with Will inside to watch. Sure enough, water dripped down from the seam at the top of the windshield right on to the steering wheel. The drops landed directly on the seam and went inside the steering wheel. (Which is why no one noticed a wet spot when we got back in the car) and shorted out the horn. It also shorted out the cruise control we later discovered.

So now I have to have the windshield reinstalled. It should not be too terribly expensive, unless they break the windshield and we have to replace that too. What do you think the chances are of them resetting the windshield without breaking it?

We then will have to take her to our good and faithful mechanic friend (God bless our good and faithful mechanic friend) to fix the horn and the cruise control, although he did point out that we don’t really need a horn. I drive the monster of the highway; people are not going to need to hear my horn to know they’d better get out of my way.

Tricia