Which brings me to the turkey baster.
Laurie’s turkey baster, I thought, might just provide enough suction to suck the brake fluid out. So I ran into the house and found it the drawer that holds the spatulas, big forks, ice cream scoop and potato masher. I pressed the tip against my finger and gave the ball a squeeze. The suction was weak, so I wrapped a piece of stove pipe wire around the bottom of the ball and twisted it tight with a pair of pliers. That seemed to help.
Relieved, I rushed out to the car, stuck the tube into the power steering reservoir, and gave the ball another squeeze. Nothing much happened. All that Yankee ingenuity was wasted.
The baster, of course, was ruined, and I still had brake fluid where power steering fluid was supposed to go. As I was making my way to the garbage can to throw the baster away, it hit me — five or six years ago, I bought an automotive suction pump to remove the tar-like, 75-year-old gunk in the differential of my 1930 Chevy truck. Within minutes, I pumped it clean and filled it with nice, clean, fresh gear lube.
Inspired, I went to the garage, found the suction pump, sucked the brake fluid from the Toyota, and poured in the power steering fluid. Disater averted.
Six months ago, I planned to buy a new yellow plastic turkey baster, just like the old one. Laurie would never know the diff.
But I forgot. Completely, absolutely forgot until Thanksgiving morning, when it was time to get ready to baste the turkey.
Confession is good for the soul, they say, so I ‘fessed up.
“That’s OK,” Laurie said. “We can just use a ladle instead.”
The plastic ladle worked fine all morning, until I accidentally shoved it against a boiling pot, melted it, and filled the kitchen with stinky smoke.