Tuesday, 19 April 2016

For Want of a Nail

Yesterday when my lovely wife came home from physiotherapy she told me about the progress she was having with the physio guy and the prognosis was good. Then she added a little bomb. The physio guy showed her some things she could do with one of those blow up exercise balls. So I sprang into action driving 15 kilometers to the nearest store that carries them. Purchase made then it was the 15 kilometer trip home.

Screaming into the drive way I was out of the car almost before it stopped and getting ready to blow the ball up with my compressor. Meanwhile I had neglected to have lunch and was starting to feel the effects of low sugar but I pressed on. Well of course I dropped the plug stopper thingy and there I was my efforts having ground to a halt because I was in a hurry, not paying attention to the minor details. Look as hard as I may the damn little plug had vanished into the twilight zone.

Well there I was for want of a plug, stopped. Arrrggggg! 

So I had some food and, after my sugar returned to some semblance of normal, I went out for another search. Nada. Next was checking on line to see about a replacement. After visiting several sites that stocked the plug I was angry. It was looking that I would be forking out another twenty bucks for a exercise ball because that was cheaper than ordering a plug. In one place the replacement plugs retailed for a little under twenty dollars plus another nine dollars and twenty two cents shipping Mind you that was for thirty plus a tool to get them out of the ball but I only need one and I don't ever want to have to take one of these little plugs out.

Well this morning, head down doing the walk of shame out to my car feeling like a complete fool I decided to have one more little look. Sure enough under some stuff in my storage shed next to my compressor there it was. It had tried in vain to hide behind the front left leg of the compressor. All this drama over a little hunk of plastic and the fact I had been a dolt and not bothered with lunch. Well at least it ended well. My wife isn't mad at me for snapping at her and I'm not out another twenty bucks. 

So all is well that ends well up here north of disorder. 

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