Mea Maxima Culpa

No, this will not be about religion. It's only Marty employing a little bit of the Latin he knows. Mea maxima culpa translates into through my most grievous fault. In short, it means my bad, my really truly bad.

I found a drip from a radiator hose on my van this morning. As I went to pull away from the curb I saw steam coming from under the hood. A hose had a leak, dripping anti-freeze onto the hot manifold where it burned off as steam. On to my mechanic then rather than my sales trip. Should I mention this was about 4 AM this morning? I'm really quite happy to have discovered it then instead of when the hose would have blown completely several miles down the road in the wee hours of a cold January day. Reading in a warm bed beats sitting by the side of the road in the dark. I can make the sales trip well enough tomorrow.

So I go back inside and at 8 I begin the trip to Sam, my mechanic. He's only a mile and a half away so I figured I could drive that far as it was only a slow leak. But I texted my brother Phil to please pick me up at Sam's around 8:15. He never replies.

Well, he's occupied but he'll see the text soon enough, I figure. I drive down to Sam's and get the repair set up. We're good to go at 8:20, but no Phil to get me. Okay, I was a little put out. But I walk more than a mile and half routinely in the morning. I started walking home. Phil will know which way I'm headed, I reasoned.

Half way home, then three-quarters of the way home, and eventually all the way home. No Phil. I must confess (don't fret, still not about religion) that I was by then kind of upset. About then I got a text...from my friend Mike. He wanted to know who Sam was and why he should meet me at his place. I had texted the wrong person.

I had to walk all the way home from my mechanic. And it was my most grievous fault after all.