Here's Why I'm Single

My 100th post.  Fitting.

I’m not too good with the more manly stuff, like automotive maintenance.  Procrastination in turning over my motor home engine caused the battery to run down.  A peripheral problem is my kaput-converter, which my lovely mechanic said he could replace for a bundle, or I could buy a charger for 30 bucks.  Only trouble is, I don’t know how to use one.
 

Clever me, I took a photo of the battery hookup when he was here last fall, but it turned out I’d photographed the two house batteries being charged before he did some bypass wiring.  I have no idea what I’m talking about.

Anyway, I never did buy the charger so I borrowed one.  Neighbor's out-of-state friends had been visiting in their RV, so before they took off I snagged the husband and asked for help with hooking up the charger, to which he readily agreed.

He didn’t know me.   He went to grab his tools while I ran for my .jpeg, and here’s where this post’s title comes into play…

TWO seconds into his work, I began doubting his ability.  Never mind he’s older than me; used to be a timber-guy; owns property and numerous vehicles; plus little boys learn this shit as soon as their older brothers can talk ‘em into handing them the tools.

But I know best...please come look at the photo…you’re doing it wrong!  (the obvious implication). He finally obliged, and politely corrected my erroneous interpretation. Managing to work despite my incessant babble and inane suggestions, he tried to explain the gizmo; but I couldn't hear him over the,

“I’ll BET IT DOESN’T WORK”

ringing inside my head.  What hubris.  I love that word; lucky for me I can use it so often.

Next morning I looked at the gauge; now let me draw a picture first, for any other clueless out there.  Zero is on the left; the number 13 or 15 on the right (couldn’t tell without my glasses).  The indicator showed my battery at 4? and I assumed when charged it would register around ‘12’, as in volt.

Well it didn’t.  It said Zzzzero.  Who turned it off?  I  did what anyone would do; fiddled with switches without knowing any better, and there was definitely power.  What the ???

I knew it; he did it wrong.  How to handle this?  Wait ‘til they leave, then ask (and doubt) someone else.

Jim checked the charger; didn’t seem concerned.  I ran out and questioned him, but he assured me it was fine.  He may or may not have offered an explanation because, again the ringing,

“That can’t be; makes no sense at all.”

I watched him yank out the umbilical cords and panicked when he suggested I start ‘er up.  Good thing there was that piece of cardboard in the windshield to stave off our 100+ degree weather, ‘cause I looked like the kid in Home Alone when she started right up.

Being (one of) the first to admit when I’m wrong, I laughingly told his wife the subject of the post I’d been composing in my head since the night before; fearful of the outcome.

I’m so glad I was proven wrong, for more reasons than the obvious.  To me that means there’s hope; at least if I can get my babbling under control.  My own Ten Step Program.  I realize it's twelve, but I'll do my final Two-Steps at the honky tonk.