Hey don’t make fun of my car, dude
If you recall, I’ve complained before about having to wash my car even though I rarely use it. It turns out that a car not kept in a garage will get dirtier from not driving it than from driving it. At least driving it blows the leaves off, and maybe the top layer of dust.
Saturday two guys came to our door and inquired about it -- said they were out looking for a car to buy for their sister.
It’s not a car, I told them. It’s a home for wayward spiders. And a stage for fey raccoons dancing the night away – as evidenced by their mud prints on the hood; on the roof; and on the trunk. (What was wrong with these guys? Couldn’t they see?)
I said their sister probably wouldn’t like the spontaneous-engine-kill feature. That’s the sort of thing that’s for experienced drivers only. But they like to work on cars and they thought they could fix that. Nice but foolish boys. Lucky but unlucky sister. I forgot to ask them if their sister drove a stick shift – that would have finished them off right there.
Hardly anyone drives a stick shift any more. I’ve heard they don’t even make them now, which means that if Lindi and I go through with our loony plan to ditch our old cars and update to a single new one, I’ll be doomed to drive a sissy automatic. Boo, hiss.