"We" (used very loosely) Fix a Car

First, I am using the term ‘we’ very loosely throughout this post.

And I would like to announce that I am basically a master mechanic from my recent experience shown in the following video-

(turn up your volume and you can hear me grunt pure strength… and those are Mr. Speedy’s boots- sorry, I don’t have freakishly long footies)

It only took me approximately 53 minutes to remove that thing I was trying to remove.

Anyways, Mr. Speedy is teaching me how to work on my car.
When I say teaching me, I really mean he lets me use long bars to pry off wheels. Sometimes I get to use the zoom-zoom drill to take off love-nuts from the hub-cake.

And then I generally get distracted, and organize bolts or make hot tea.

Mr. Speedy has a natural knack for working on cars, engines, and things with motors.
Sometimes he thinks he should share his love for engine work with me (bless his heart), even though I have shown no sign of interest or comprehension towards piston movement, brake rotars, or witches. I mean wenches (is that a tool? I have no idea).

He will FaceTime me while working on projects and I will….. stare:

I believe he was putting back together an engine at lightning speed.

For nostalgic reasons, he purchased a used vehicle that was exactly like his very first car he ever owned.

He drove hundreds of miles, towing it back home using his manly truck, calling me and saying, “It needs a lot of work, but I’m so excited! You can help me!”

So, sometimes we work on this car- called Red Rocket.

First, we will scavenger hunt in a junk yard and find parts for R. Rocket.
When I say we, I really mean him, because all these cars look the same and I feel like I might need a tetanus shot if I touch anything.

He was SO excited to be here. It was like Christmas x 9283794867.

Once back in the working garage, we wheel his mammoth tool box out.
When I say we, I really mean him, because my biceps are not as developed as his and I am usually wearing my chic leather boots.
(When you wear leather boots, you can’t be expected to push heavy things.)

His tool chest is RIDICULOUSLY big and heavy. Like a red elephant.

Next, we got down to business and started to tear apart the brake system.

When I say we, I really mean him, because I was wearing my cute sweater dress.
I also was drinking a latte and it really is impossible to get under a car with a coffee in hand.

Such a hard worker… I was hard at working at… staying clean? Not staining my dress with coffee?

The amazing thing is that he did not seem to notice my lack of ability to participate.

I did participate though.

I documented his hard work:

Drool…….

Pictures like this make me realize three things:

1. I love fixing cars solely because of pictures like this.
2. Leg = Drool-I-Would-Like-To-Maul-You.
3.  I need more pictures like this.

Thank you Mr. Speedy, for fixing my brake pads, brake rotars, wheel bearings, handle panel, and oil stuff.

I promise to always make you breakfast and make your bed.

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