We visited a candy factory on Tuesday.

Archie was officially on the tour, but he didn’t get anything out of the experience.

Sam did.

When I got married, I stop using the Automotive Maintenance section of my brain.

It wasn’t a huge sliver of my mental capacity before I got married, but I had been known to check tire pressure, replace windshield wipers, fill the various fluid tanks, and squint at dipsticks.

I said “I do” and didn’t bother with those things again. SEXIST!

A few days ago, I was steering our Suburban over hill and dale to the store when the orange message box popped up, bright and intrusive. I took a deep breath before I read it, hoping it was going to say something nice, like, “Isn’t it a lovely spring day?” or “Remember the sour cream!”

Nah. It said, “Check Engine Oil Level”. Sometimes, it would come on but flash back off immediately. This time, it stayed on as if it were glaring at me.

That not good. I call husband. He deal with it when he get home.

Me, thinking he’ll pick up some oil on the way home from work that night: Hi! Hey, the check engine oil level light is on and it isn’t turning off.

He: Then you should check the oil level.

Me: …

He: You don’t want to drive very far if the light is on. Get some oil, wait until the engine is cool, put it in.

Me: Uh. What kind of oil? How much?

He: 10W-30 is fine. Get a couple.

Me: Uh. Okay.

At the store, I found the little section devoted to tree-shaped air fresheners, whimsical keychains, and motor oil. I decided to get just one because it seemed expensive and would most likely be cheaper at Costco or a car parts place. The one bottle would tide us over.

The little ones fell asleep shortly after lunch. It appeared to be a good time to play mechanic. I parked in the driveway to give myself plenty of room to work and gathered my supplies: Oil and a paper towel.

I popped the hood using the release latch under the dashboard. Yay! I thought.

I skipped around to the front of the car and tried to lift the hood. I’ve never lifted a hood of a Suburban, have you? Never mind the minutes I wasted finding the latch, that puppy was heavy. I got the hood up and held it for about thirty seconds as I searched for the stick that holds it up. I didn’t realize it had a handy spring-system to keep it up. The last time I raised the hood of a car, the car happened to be a 1987 Honda Accord. Stick Hood-Holder included.

Hood up, I looked for the dipstick so I could ascertain if the engine light was being a wiseguy and lying to me. I suspected it was.

The oil level dipstick in a Suburban is about 17 feet long. I wiped it with my paper towel and wished I had a cool mechanic jumpsuit. I replaced the dipstick, pulled it back out to get an accurate level. It couldn’t have been lower.

I replaced the dipstick and found the cap labelled Oil and Consult Owner’s Manual.

Consult Owner’s Manual? That is silly, I thought as I tried to twist the cap off. It rotated and stopped. I tried the other direction. It rotated and stopped. Back and forth, I twisted the cap and it wouldn’t come off. The owner’s manual, wherever it is, had a hearty laugh. I looked in the glove box for it, embarrassed, and it wasn’t there. Into the house…

I dialed my own personal Mr. Goodwrench at work.

Me: Hi! I am putting oil in the car and I can’t get the cap off.

He: You have to line the notches up and pull up as you twist.

Me: Oh.

I went back outside. He was right. I got the cap off. One step closer to being hired for an Indy pit crew!

I opened the bottle of oil and went to pour, but something seemed wrong. I pictured splashing and remembered funnels are usually used for those sorts of things. Back inside. Phone.

Me: Uh, do I need a funnel?

He: You can use a funnel.

Me: Where is a funnel?

He: In the garage, hanging on a hook. Yellow.

I hadn’t noticed, since I was in the driveway. I went to the garage and found the funnel, which was very dirty and had spider webs and fuzzy things on it. If I poured oil in it, the fuzzy stuff could contaminate the engine, right? Right?

So I washed the funnel. That’s what Indy pit crews do.

Finally, I returned to the Suburban, placed the funnel, tipped the oil bottle, and watched it glug glug glug into the place it goes, wherever that may be. I replaced the cap.

I closed the hood.

That only took three tries.