This morning we had heating fuel delivered. Yes, it is August, but the heating fuel also powers the water heater, so it is rather vital year-round. Plus it’s been darn tootin’ cold for August. The other day it was rainy and 11.5 degrees. That is just shy of 53 degrees. I’m not complaining, it is easier to put on a sweater than to sit in a puddle of sweat in an un-air conditioned house. (yes, Bill bought two portable a/c units but they don’t make the whole house cool and comfy)
So when the delivery man arrived, I showed him how he could access the fuel tank in the cave (basement) by removing some boards on the floor of the garage. (which I didn’t realize the first time we had fuel delivered last fall.) Then he asked, I think, if I have a ladder he could use to get down to the cave. I told him he could just go inside and use our elevator. I was trying to tell him he could use the stairs in the house. Gads, I’m never going go get the hang of this language!
At least it’s not as bad as the woman I heard about who was looking for buttermilk and asked the guy at the supermarket where she could find breast milk.
That was the woman who asked the mechanic to put a bra on the front of her car to keep rocks from dinging the front bumper. I’ll let you fill in the rest of that setup.