Earlier in the month, we loaded up my car and drove to the Midwest to see my parents. I love my car. It is 10 years old and it is paid for and I can eat all the French fries I want in my car. And I know what all the buttons do. My car, it is not complicated. It is old and simple, much like myself.
AD has a newer fancy car that I do not care for. Besides the fact that it is some sort of inner sanctum where no French fry shall pass, it has all kinds of buttons and dials and thingys on it that do stuff that frighten me. Screens pop up and people talk to me, people I do not know and cannot see. And I can never figure out how to get any of the buttons to do what they are supposed to do. It is a hateful car.
One time I had to drive this car to a gathering at someone’s house, after dark. And as soon as I get in the car, I sense the car thinking, “Oh. It’s you. I suppose you will be wanting some fries.”
After I got to my destination and parked, I could not get the headlights to turn off. Or the door to lock. Every time I would take three steps away from the car, it would unlock itself just to be spiteful. So I couldn’t go into the house. I just stood outside the house locking and unlocking the car and turning the lights off and on and off and on and waving to the normal people going in.
Another time I had to take Sean and his little friend to school in this car and I could not unlock the back doors. I pushed every button I could find, but those doors would not open. You know, I already have a reputation at this school as “that” mom, the one who can’t operate a calendar. Now I’m “that”
mom who can’t figure out how to unlock the car door.
The people in the car pool line behind me were getting a little antsy, so finally I crawled into the backseat, unstrapped the children and then had them crawl into the front seat and out the door. Just like at the circus.
Shortly thereafter, my brother sent me the link to Blonde Star. Very funny John.