It is a major understatement to say my husband doesn't like working on cars....

I found this far too funny not to share...but then again I've been up since four am, so what do I know?

Of course, to give it context, let me start with the back story...

Probably about a month or two ago, Man Child came home for the weekend and mentioned that his headlight was out.  The Husband spent over an hour in the driveway, cursing like a sailor, because he just could not figure out how to wedge his giant paw into the tiny space.  Eventually, Man Child had to get on the road and promised that he'd get one of his friends to help him.  So he left with a non-working headlight.

A few weeks ago, Man Child was home again and, of course, his headlight still wasn't working (AND we discovered his license had expired...a whole 'nother story).  This time, The Husband, instead of waiting until Sunday, Googled the process on Saturday and was able to fix the headlight. 

And all was right with the world....

Until Friday, when I realized one of MY headlights was out.  So I sent him a text...

I actually giggled as I sent it.  Yes, I know there is no punctuation and that I'm kinda torturing him.

I never received a response, so when I got home I told him.  He was not amused.  Particularly after he discovered that in order to get to this headlight he'd have to remove the battery.  But even so, he felt confident that he could easily get to this one.

So this morning, he decided to fix the headlight.  

The next thing I know, he opens the door and asks me to Google which cable needed to be removed first from the battery, because you can ruin the battery...or something.  At least he knew that there was an order to it, I would have never known that and promptly ruined a perfectly good battery.  So I did and informed him that he needed to remove the negative cable first.  A few minutes later he comes in looking for a flashlight because, according to him, "It was dark as *censored* under the hood."  So I found him a flashlight and headed out to see how things were progressing.

It was not going well, at all.  He had successfully put the bulb in but was now turning the garage blue with all the creative cursing that was streaming from his mouth as he attempted to put the battery back in.  I offered to hold the flashlight and as I was holding the beam so he could see I casually said, "So, I guess it's safe to say, you aren't a car guy?"  The look he gave me was murderous as he took the flashlight back and sent me away.

After a few more minutes, he popped his head back in the door and asked me to double check which cable goes back on first.    In case you are curious, it's the positive.

Another minute or two goes by, he opened the door and said, "You aren't going to *censored* believe this!  I put in the *censored* dead bulb (from Man-Child's car) instead of the new one!"  I resisted the impulse to respond with, "That's why you are supposed to throw things away instead of letting them hang around in the garage."

Instead, I told him he could do it later, if he'd rather since I rarely drive at night anyway.  He exclaimed that no, he would do right then since he now has the experience to do it and went back out the door.

Only to come back in two seconds later to ask me if I could Google which cable needs to come of first.  I died laughing while gasping, "I thought you were 'experienced' at this?"

And here we are hours later and I'm still giggling about it.