A “Triple A” Kind of Day

After a hard work week and Friday night margaritas, there is nothing I enjoy more than sleeping in on a Saturday morning while the boyfriend makes a Starbucks run to get our coffee.  This Saturday is no exception…only it was. After the boyfriend’s usual early morning departure from the world’s coziest bed, I prepare to settle in for more luxurious slumber.  I toss and turn.  Something is amiss.  I don’t hear the engine of his car leave the drive.  Another fifteen minutes or passes.  No footsteps into the room leading with the aroma of a Grande Americano, light cream.  Something is not right with the world.

Feeling a little out of sorts, I don my pink robe and head down the stairs to find out the reason for the delay.  There is boyfriend, looking a little sheepish.  “The battery’s dead,” he says.  Granted, it was the original 2007 battery and it was a particularly frosty morning and he had noticed that start up was a little sluggish lately.

“Well, are you parked in front of the garage?” I ask, on to Plan B thinking coffee first is still not entirely out of the question.  He can always take my car.

“For the first time, yes.” It’s true.  He always parks on the side and never parks in front of the garage.  Except for this time; this morning.

Having run out of options, I relinquish all hopes of being a pampered princess and put my problem solving gears into motion.  Besides, we still have Christmas Blend French Press grounds.  From two Christmases ago.  Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Onto Plan C, I set the water to boil and begin looking for my Triple A card because it’s not in my wallet or glove compartment, of course.  Stalling, as I scramble to find the card, I say “I’ll call Triple A!  They have great batteries!”  I would know.  After accidentally leaving my keys partially engaged overnight and completely draining my battery a couple of years ago, I was in this very predicament. 

“Sweetheart,” he intones, drawing out the first syllable.  “They don’t make their own batteries, they just install them.”

“No, really,” I insist.  “The tow truck came out and installed a Triple A battery.  It starts right up even after I leave the dome light on!”

In short order, I find the card in a basket in the computer room and enter the 1.800 number.  Soon a chipper woman comes on the line and I tell her about my “guests” dilemma. 

“Well it’s a good thing you have AAA,” she gushes. 

“Yes, it is,”  I agree, emphatically.

“But first, are you in a safe place?” she asks, now sounding more urgent.

“Yes, we are–my home,”  I report, feeling like I just passed an important test.

“Well, good,” she says, feigning relief.  On to the information intake.  By this time, the boyfriend has retrieved his card–a member since 1984, mind you.   She enters his car make, year, and model into the data system.

I let her know that we might need a AAA battery for him, too.  “I love my AAA battery,” I confide.

At this the boyfriend just groans and puts his head in his hands.  After the phone call, he give me the “you’re adorable, but you know not what you say” look and explains again that AAA just provides the service, they don’t make batteries.  And then he holds me close and says, “You’re cute as a bug!  I love you, you know.”  I do and I do.

“Put your card back in your wallet,” he reminds me.  “I don’t want you to lose it because of me.”

Oh well, I thought for sure….And so I go upstairs to take a bath, sipping on my aged Christmas Blend coffee.

Several minutes go by and I am enjoying my nice hot soak almost as much as sleeping in.  Suddenly, I hear the boyfriend outside the bathroom door.  “You will not believe what the side of the tow truck in your driveway says,” he leads. 

“Smith Brothers Towing?”  I reply, knowing this was the company that had been summoned.

“Well, that, too,” he replies.

“What?” I ask.

“Triple A Batteries Delivered and Installed,” he states in amazement.

“Oh, oh, oh!”  I shout.  “Take a picture! Take a picture!”

And lickety-split, I hop out of the tub, wrap my hair in a towel, throw on some clothes and run down the stairs.  Grabbing my camera on the way out I dash into the driveway for a shot.  Yep, there it is.  Clearly the boyfriend has already eaten crow to the tow truck man, because he poses for me holding up a…..AAA BATTERY.

“I’ll never hear the end of this,” says the boyfriend in  commiseration with nice tow truck man who nods, knowingly.

Oh, the taste of victory.  And, a Grande Americano, light cream, please and thank you very much.


This entry was posted in Humor, Journal, Life, Reflection, Writing and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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