Sunset for the Blarney Mobile–But Five O’Clock Somewhere

Saturday found the Crone and the Cackler out in search of yard sales. They didn’t have much luck as the day was wet and cold. Wiser witches would have taken this as a sign and gone home to bed but the gruesome twosome pressed on, piling more and more packages into the Blarneymobile and ending their shopping extravaganza at the supermarket . Pulling out of the parking lot, the Crone observed that the car’s temperature gauge was shooting alarmingly high. She stopped outside a nearby Mexican restaurant and ordered the Cackler out of the car–and not a moment too soon. Within seconds, steam was surging skyward and disturbing gurgling noises could be heard from under the hood. The Crone called Triple A and the Cackler repaired to the bar at the restaurant and ordered a margarita, frozen, with salt. The Crone, still believing that she might drive home, asked for a glass of water. Both drinks arrived within moments–and so did the tow truck. While the gloomy mechanic ( ” Say goodbye to it–your head gasket will have gone” ) hoisted the hapless hatchback on to his flatbed, the Cackler did her best to down her Tequila-laced slurpee. But the drink had been served in a bucket and was brain-freezingly cold. It was only possible to glug a mouthful a minute and the Crone and Mr Misery were getting impatient. Ever enterprising, the Cackler asked for a plastic cup to go, only to discover that Maryland prohibits portable Patron, forcing her to leave nearly a quart of her cocktail undrunk. This, combined with the effrontery of the day before’s beach charge forced her to the conclusion that America is perhaps not so much the land of the free as she had originally been led to believe…

Riding high above the hardcore, the Crone and the Cackler arrived in Itchy Ankle in the cab of the tow-truck and were deposited at the excellent shop of Kent Boone. From there, Barkis rode to the rescue, delivering the two to their own front door.

Between the drama and the stiff drink, both were exhausted, but, as it turned out, in much better shape than the car which not even Boone’s Automotive can save. RIP Blarneymobile, pictured below with Hansel the Handsome in happier days for all.

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About Liz Barron

US Peace Corps Volunteer in Armenia. Permanent address in Washington DC. Deep roots in Northern Ireland and persistent Belfast accent. Blogger,cook, mother, grandma, Scrabble-player and enthusiastic world traveler.
This entry was posted in Blarney Family, Gangsta Hansel & Ghetto Gretel, itchy ankle, The Traveling Crone, yard sale and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Sunset for the Blarney Mobile–But Five O’Clock Somewhere

  1. Pingback: Sunday in stout walking boots—oh, and the Snug Harbor Inn « Blarneycrone’s Weblog

  2. Pingback: Never pass up sausage… « Blarneycrone’s Weblog

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