Tank top, T-shirt, or turtleneck. The weather changes so rapidly now that I have no idea what to put on in the morning. It can drop (or rise) twenty degrees in a day. T-shirt weather makes me feel like Goldilocks in the baby bear's bed; not too hot and not too cold, just right.
Before making a quick trip to town the other day, I finally remembered to take a few minutes to put the registration sticker on the truck and change the taillight bulb. I'd only think of it when I got in the truck to go somewhere and forget about it when I got back home. I knew there were different screws in the coupling and took out a Phillips and a flat-head. Why, oh why, I'd like to know, was it necessary to put a Phillips screw and a hex screw in the same housing. Back into the house for the hex ratchet. Taillight bulbs have a funky flat base and socket. The offending bulb would not slip out. I pulled gently, I pulled hard. If the glass broke I'd be dead in the water. The flat-head screwdriver came into play when I finally pried the bulb out (there were no flat-head screws in the assembly). The nice man had sold me some goopy stuff to put on the new bulb's bottom to help the connection and I smeared that all over before inserting it. Ta da! Wrong. I tried the blinker; it wouldn't work without turning on the engine. Back into the house for the keys. Turned on the engine, tried the blinker. The blinker didn't blink. Rats. Took the blankety-blank thing apart again and struggled to get the now-smeared bulb out again. Maybe I'd replaced the wrong bulb. Tried changing the top one. Same results. Put another bulb in the middle socket. Same results. Now I couldn't get the connector cable to snap in. Cursing all automotive makers, I got the still-not-working module back in place, put all the bulbs and tools and little package of goop into a bag, and drove into town. I conscientiously rolled down the window and made the appropriate hand signal before making every left-hand turn, wondering as I did if any drivers on the road even knew what hand signals were. One of the young men in the film crew had told me he'd just learned how to drive an old stick-shift car! There were no automatics and no blinkers back in the day. I went to the store where I'd bought the bulbs and, much as I hated to, asked for help. The nice man came out and was able to snap the connector cable back in place. Finally, ta da. I was too exasperated for an exclamation point. Just ta da.
Driving up to the house last evening, I saw the glass-topped table and patio chairs were all knocked over in Camille's front yard. There had been a pretty strong breeze throughout the day, but surely not strong enough to blow down the furniture. Fortunately the glass had not broken. Just then Cricket and Shadow came up the drive. They have the run of the property and those boys had evidently had a wild party while their mama was gone. Rather than give them a second shot, I didn't put the table back up. The glass had survived the first drop, it might not make it a second time. I'll leave Camille to deal with their bad behavior.