What A Catch I Am

I think my husband's car hates me. Not only that, it is possessed.

Last time I wrote about how the innards of the car fell out while I was driving it.

Yesterday I was driving to another dentist appointment when all of a sudden the speedometer stopped working. It dropped down to zero. I think I may have audibly screamed, because who knows what horrid thing was going to go wrong next. I pulled over to the far right lane and drove for a few miles. It was awful. I had no idea how fast or slow I was driving. I had no idea how annoyed I should be at the driver in front of me, who seemed to be driving very slowly.

So I drew on my enormous reserve of car knowledge and hit the dashboard a few times. Viola, it started working again. Yea me!

Then I went to my dentist appointment where I found out I will need to pay the amount of money equivalent to the gross national product of a small country to get all the work done on my teeth. I declined the "complimentary" paraffin wax hand treatment, but I am so going to get it the next time. Also, I am going to grab all the "complimentary" bottles of water and "complimentary" snacks I can fit in my purse, because that is what we are going to be eating for the next year.

I did accept the television remote this time. I just couldn't stomach the Mtv. I must be getting old. I was going through the channels when the dentist came in to talk to me. She took the remote control and turned on the tooth channel so that I could see my teeth magnified up there on the screen.

When she went to leave, she helpfully put the television back to the channel I was watching and set the remote down way across the room. The channel was showing some sort of monster truck atrocity. It was horrible. I lamely said that I wasn't really watching that channel. I have seven kids and crack whore teeth*, the monster truck racing just fits into the stereotype, doesn't it?

On the way home there was a torrential downpour. So I did what any reasonable driver does in the situation; I turned on the windshield wipers.

Swish... swish... swish... thunk.

The wiper on the driver's side of the car broke and flew away. I had to drive the rest of the way home leaning over to try and look out the passenger's side of the windshield.

When I got home, and told Rob my latest adventures with his car, he asked why these things always happen to me.

I don't know why, but I started laughing and couldn't stop. Rob didn't think it was funny. But that made me laugh more. Especially when he asked me to demonstrate how I turned the wipers on.

Clearly laughing was not the right response in light of such serious events. Because, by God, it is a car, not a toy. And here I am acting like a reckless teen using those windshield wipers with abandon.

Finally I managed to get out that I was laughing because sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying. And honestly, it was the best thing that had happened to me the entire day.



(* just kidding. I don't want to offend any of my crack whore readership by comparing my teeth to them)