Please come run over my car. It is sitting in the parking lot at work. When I leave here I will simply pretend that I don’t know what happened. We will never speak of this deed to my insurance company. I will have a shiny new car and you will have some monster truck fun and all will be right with the world.
I hate my car. It was fine when I was a poor soon to be college graduate who needed something cheap. Now it is a money-sucking, always broken, unreliable thorn in my side.
I don’t think of myself as being materialistic. I shop at Target and use coupons. I relish sales. But while I am able to overlook that my car is somewhat less than glamorous and has the equivalent in power to, say, a lawn mower, I am not able to overlook the fact that it simply doesn’t work. In the last 18 months I have not gone for a solid month without the “service engine soon” light coming on. It has broken down in the highway – 3 times. It has been in the shop for weeks at a time. It has failed inspection.
The latest blow came yesterday when I got an estimate from the mechanic. $820 to get the car fixed and through inspection. Ouch.
So, please, please come run over my car.