You guys are lucky. I am not married. In fact, I am 17 and living at home. I
do have a mother though. She hates my car. She hates my Dad's E-type. She
hates my Dad's Jag Mark II. She hates the smell of bondo. She hates the stains
on the gargae floor. She hates the smell of gas that permeates our garage. She
hates the fact that we take up all "her" garage space, and that she can't get
to her chest freezer. She hates it that we pile car parts all over said
freezer. She hates the smell of the incredibly leaky propane heater that we
use to heat our very cold garage. She hates the greasy fingerprints that we
leave "all over the house." She hates the smell of the "Snap-On Pit Crew
Degreaser" we use to wash or hands. She hates the fact that my dad dropped a
couple hundred on new shocks for the Mark II, (not to mention the umpteen
million other parts for the three cars) but wont have her chair re-upholstered
or floors refinished, because they are too expensive. And as was brought up
previously, she hates the cars' "unreliable nature" and my car's apparent
"safety problem". She tried to convince me to sell the Spit and buy my
cousin's old Mazda Protege. I would have laughed if she weren't so serious.
She hates a lot more, but I cant really remember all of it at this time. I
hope that when I get married, that I can be as fortunate as those other guys
whose wives appreciate their hobby. My clever father, who is 6-3,
"accidentally" got his seat jammed all the way back in his E-type, so my 5-6
mother cant reach the pedals. Brilliant. He claims that it wasn't intentional,
in which case, it must have been an act of God. This is all I have to say on
the topic at this time. I have no idea how to fix the carb. Sorry.
Kris Powell - '74 Spit 1500
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