TROUBLESHOOTING

Last week, I spent an alarming amount of time researching tire prices, windshield repair, and strange air-conditioning sounds.

The tire had a blowout. The windshield had a crack. The air conditioner had started making noises that suggested it was either dying or trying to communicate.

So, like any responsible adult, I spent several days reading internet forums populated by people who have too strong an opinion about all three.

Then I went on vacation.

For a few days, my biggest concern became whether it was smart or stupid to have another cup of coffee before going white-water rafting.

I sat by a river. I listened to the water. I ignored emails. I remembered what it felt like to go multiple hours without researching replacement parts.

It was lovely.

Then I came home, and our dog had developed a hot spot.

Three hours ago, I didn’t know what a hot spot looked like.

Now I’m holding my dog steady while my wife uses MY body-hair trimmer on her bum, and I’m wondering if it’s officially time to get a new one.

The trimmer, not the dog.

This is not how I imagined spending my Tuesday night.

To make matters worse, my dog appears to be in a blood feud with her own thigh. Every time we look away, she’s right back at it.

When I was younger, I assumed adulthood would involve a lot more freedom and a lot less troubleshooting.

Instead, a surprising amount of it seems to involve responding to whatever has decided to stop working next.

The tire.

The windshield.

The air conditioner.

The dog.

And occasionally, myself.

None of these are interests of mine.

Yet somehow, they keep showing up on my calendar.