Grumpy the Truck.
Last weekend, we cleaned out not only Grumpy’s bed, but organized most of the garage too. I had backed up a narrow walled driveway into a bush last week with Grumpy, and this scratched his back right, hippy fender. Right there on the right corner.
Ah, the guilt. Saying, “But I didn’t hit the wall,” didn’t quite make it.
After the cleanout, I looked a little closer and saw a deeper chip. The Geezer checked it nose to hip and announced the fender cracked. Some one had hit us. Probably never knew they did it.
Now I’m not the only one with a worn out hip in this family. G says there isn’t a good fiberglass repair person in town. We will probably have to get Grumpy a new hip. Me too. My surgeon looked at the old X-rays and said he would have done it after my last visit. Both of us are now in the line-up for new hips.
More will be revealed later.