My husband has a Ford Taurus SHO. It is basically a supped up Taurus with a special engine. Ford only made a few of them and we, lucky souls, have one. Anyway, there is a problem with the cams where if they aren't fixed, the motor will blow up. Ford refuses to recognize the problem so owners are forced to find mechanics who specialize in the repair. Yeah, yeah, this is boring but there is a point. One of these magic men lives in the San Fernando Valley, about an hour from my house. So we packed up the tribe and took his car out there. He wrote down the directions and I made a copy. Stupidly, I did not ask him to clarify his directions. So off we go on the myriad of freeways to get to this guy's house. I misread the directions and took a different freeway. I ended up going 14 miles out of my way. What's worse is the freeway I was on was jammed and I wasn't moving. The kids were okay, I've got a dvd player in the car. I figured I was lost and called hubby. He didn't answer. Here is what makes me the total idiot: since I was at a standstill, I decided to...put the address in my GPS system. Golly, seems I really was lost. Yes, I have a GPS and didn't use it. DUH!!!
Finally got my self headed in the right direction. Hubby calls, he forgot to take the phone out of his car and keep it in his pocket while he was busy talking cars with fellow car dudes. After this whole fiasco, we decided to go out to lunch. My son thinks Denny's is haute cuisine so we go there and have the waitress who speaks no English and messes up the order. I'm finally home but I have a trip to Costco planned with the three kids in tow. I'm a glutton for punishment.
Writing is going well, I am up to 20K words on my WIP, but I have discovered why we always have maids and footmen in romance novels. I spent a chunk of the day researching water systems in 18th century London. It would have been much easier to have just ordered the servant to bring it up and not worried about it. But I get a bug in my brain and I can't let it go. I did figure out the wealthy of London all had water piped into their homes, but from there I couldn't figure out what else happened. Did she pump it with a pump? Did she turn the knob on her Delta nickel-plated faucet? I am still unsure. However, there seems to be an obsession with toilets and sewage amongst scholars. I learned far more than I would have liked about 18th century cesspits. I don't know about you, but my romantic novel characters don't need to go to the bathroom. Bathrooms are there so they can have sex in the shower or look in the mirror.