Out Of The Ashes

Mark Twain said, "The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated."  Fu Manchu could say the same.  Seeing the photos of the burned remains of a yard full of equipment at the repair shop and the post by the owner's daughter, "We've lost everything," led me to believe that Fu was no more.  I waited and heard nothing from the shop, and finally contacted my insurance company (the owner had let his insurance lapse).  Given depreciation, etc., I was happy to get a check that would cover perhaps half of the cost of replacement, half a loaf being better than none, and signed on the line for John.  Camille bought a new weed-eater (that woman is a weed-eating fool!).  She'd taken her old one to the shop the morning of the fire and was sure it was also a victim.

There I was, happily going forward and reverse on my new wheels, when I got a call from the repair shop.  "Your tractor survived and we'll get it to you soon.  We haven't found your rolling weed-eater yet."  To say I was stunned is an understatement.  Now I was in a pickle.  Two tractors is a bit of overkill.  (Steve wouldn't have thought so, he who wanted fifty of everything.)  Fu and I had a long and happy life together, but I'd already given my heart to John.  I called my insurance company to get instructions.  They were simple, "Send the money back."  Ah, well.  Such is life.  Camille also got a call from the shop.  Now she has two weed-eaters.  I'm tellin' ya, we're living high on the hog here in the hinterlands.

All Fu Manchu had needed was a new inner tube for one tire.  I'll still have to pay for that.  Crum.