In which I get an offer!

My brake light went on a couple of days ago. (Big, bright, RED light, right there on the dashboard: BRAKE.) After the light came on, the brakes seemed squishy, but I don’t know if the symptom was psychosomatic or not. (And if it was, I don’t know if I was imagining it or if the jeep was.) Suffice it to say, the sticker in the upper left-hand corner of my windshield proclaims that I was supposed to have gone in for service last March. Oops.

This afternoon I stopped at Mi-T-Mart and bought a container of DOT3 brake fluid. Out in the parking lot, I popped the hood and put the fluid in the jeep. Sheets and Bailey pulled up beside me, grinning and hollering, “Hey! You need a man to help you with that?”

“Why? Do you know were to find one?” I quipped.

Sheets laughed and said, “I met one once, in a place one time!”

“Are you sure it was a man? Did you check?”

“Naw,” he said. “I used to check ’em all, but it just gets so time consuming.”