That is the phrase on my grandmother's ring holder that she keeps by the kitchen sink. Whenever I see that ring holder, I always think about what it means and the double meanings behind what it could mean, and . . . earlier in my little girl mind, I wondered if grandma really ever needed a bull for her cow. Or, if she even had a cow (they had lots and lots of horses).
The phrase came to mind on Thursday afternoon when my husband arrived home a bit late and pulled up saying, "I wouldn't take this car to your appointment. I had to pop the clutch to get it going."
In fact, I thought of a more appropriate phrase:
The phrase came to mind on Thursday afternoon when my husband arrived home a bit late and pulled up saying, "I wouldn't take this car to your appointment. I had to pop the clutch to get it going."
In fact, I thought of a more appropriate phrase:
"My Car Died.
So, I Don't Need Your Bull."
You can't blame the car for conking out. This shiny, cutting edge blue specimen of a 1989 Honda Prelude does have over 230,000 miles clocked on the odometer. I had the opportunity to drive it quite a bit this week while Erik was out of town. Every time I got in the car, I prayed that she had a year left in her without needing to make another set of major repairs.
The Sjolseths in DC are balancing quite a bit right now. So if you see any arm waving or gesticulation don't confuse it as an interpretative improvement to a bull fighter waving a red flag around. I'm not a bull fighter, bull rider, or seeker of a bull. So, yeah, my car died and I don't need anyone's bull.
(I am a longhorn, but that's a whole 'nuther conversation altogether.)
