Whatcha Thinkin’ About?

Whatcha Thinkin’ About?

Ladies, did you ever wonder what’s going through your man’s mind? Why he’s making those little grunting noises while he dreams? When you’re sitting on the couch, and you’ve just bared your soul, told him all about, well, I don’t know what, I wasn’t listening, but I assume it was something about cupcakes and shoes and biological clocks and labrador retrievers and any potential funhouse mirror effect a pair of pants might have on your nether regions — when you turn to him and say, “Whatcha thinkin’?”, did you ever really want to know what’s going on in there, or were you just asking?

Because this is more-or-less what he’s thinking. All the time. At your aunt’s funeral, at the dinner table, while you’re making bouncy-bouncy — the whole lot.

6 thoughts on “Whatcha Thinkin’ About?

  1. I know exactly what he’s thinking.

    The J.R. has three Atomic 4 engines in the various stages of flensing the crap off their bones to see if he can assemble one good one out of the mess. Meanwhile, we haul the boat and get her ready for a shiny new four-banger.

  2. Extra left over parts at the end. Never a good thing. That’s almost as bad as the worst sound: TIC-Tic-tic-tictictic… That’s the sound of one tiny part escaping.


  3. shewt – i thought dis was gonna be about racing valve covers

    then theres them extry parts

  4. Hi Dadof- I think you might be right there.

    Way back when, I was a teen and worked at a body shop. A little later on, it got known that I could fix a car a little. I was next to useless, but everyone else was totally useless. A fellow started paying me a few pennies to fix this and that on cars he bought at auction and resold. He always had neato stuff.

    My favorite was a Spitfire he bought. I had to test-drive the cars,(if I could get them to run, that is) and that one was a blast. It was like sitting on the ground for me. I could reach out the window and touch the ground, just about.

    Anyway, everything electrical on that thing didn’t work. Everything. I remember lying on my back with my legs over the seat and my head under the dash, following a rat’s nest of wires under there. It was really hard to get myself in there. I was doing things in my plodding way– just following wires back and forth to see which was which, hoping to find one disconnected or scorched for a clue, when I felt the most curious sensation. Like vertigo, or seasickness. I figured my claustrophobic posture, with my head jammed under the dash, was starting to get to me.

    I looked up, which in my case was backwards, and I noticed that the landscape was passing by, and at a fairly brisk clip, too.

    The car was (er, had been)parked atop a hill on the fellow’s lawn, and I’d knocked it into neutral with my knee or something, and I rode that sucker for quite a stretch, steering from below and behind, trying to keep the trees equidistant, and pushing on the brake pedal with the back of my head as best I could.

    I finally stopped after taking out a split rail fence and some shrubs.

    In case anyone’s curious: Split rail fence marks buff right out of the hood of Triumph Spitfires. At least the red ones.

  5. Sipp,
    good story. I’m very familiar with the upside down and backwards position. Both in my own Spitfire and the airplanes I used to install radio’s into.
    Lucas electric’s reputation as the master of darkness comes mostly from their propensity to use mechanical connection for the grounds. Some corrosion and little reddy killowatt is going to find another way home. A judicious application of a scotchbrite pad and some dielectric grease fixes most of that.

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