Apparently we’re tempting fate with all this moving. So much has gone wrong that I’ve suggested to my poor husband, “Maybe this is a sign that we’re not supposed to move.” More likely, though, it’s just the universe screaming, “Get out now.”
We borrowed a van last weekend to move the biggest stuff in the apartment. And while my dad and my husband had a full load, the first load, the brake line went. Rusted clean through. Conveniently, this happened as they were coasting along in the parking lot outside our storage unit.
Tonight, the front wheel of my dad’s car fell off. Sort of wedged under the car at a 90 degree angle. As in, the axle broke off from the transmission and the car wouldn’t even get in gear to get out of the road. Conveniently, this happened while he was traveling at 20 miles per hour on the street outside our apartment.
We’re very thankful that neither of these disasters happened on highways, hills, railroad crossings, or any other places that these vehicles crossed right before our bad luck seeped into their systems and destroyed them.
Please don’t volunteer your vehicle to help us move. It will be subsequently destroyed. Safely and efficiently destroyed.