LXIII. If the Air Runs Cold, It Must Not Be Sold
"Why don't you get a new car? You drive the oldest car of any of our friends and I'm afraid that thing is unsafe," she said.
I swigged my beer and kept my eyes on the TV. "Why don't you go into a room you feel more comfortable shutting up in?"
The sharp, stinging handprint on my cheek was a gentle reminder of her love.
"I am serious. You car is falling apart," she lovingly yelled.
It was then that I issued the line men have been issuing since 36 months after the first sale of a Model T. "Sweetheart, it's paid for."
"But your medical bills from one wreck will total more than the money you are saving by driving it," she said with a hint of Vulcan in her voice.
Then I uttered the second-oldest line.
"It gets me from A to B, sweetie."
Of course, I have failed to tell her about the handful of times my car has overheated, stalled out, or needed essential parts such as alternators or transmissions replaced, because I didn't want to worry her. Plus I didn't want her on my ass.
"Look, I know you are frugal, baby, and that is admirable in theory. But it's maddening in real life," she said. "I haven't ridden in that thing in two years now because it is so nasty. You have floorboard trash and fast food wrappers seat-high. You have gum smashed into the carpet, and the whole car smells like sour milk. It's not like you love that car or treat it like your baby. Time to get rid of it. What do you think?"
"I think this is the one where Mr. Burns releases the hounds at Homer's company party."
"Dammit!" She yanked the remote control from my hand and threw it through the bay window.
I stood up. "Sweetheart, I am from Texas! And that means I don't get rid of an old car until the air conditioner runs out. Understand? If the air blows cold, it must not be sold."
She left it alone and went into the other room. I stared at the smoky grayness of the TV screen.
She's right, I thought. I have an ABS light permanently on, the MAINTENANCE light is always on, the knobs are missing off the radio, and the interior smells like the State Fair on week three.
But I just can't get rid of something that it would take too much energy to clean out.
I swigged my beer and kept my eyes on the TV. "Why don't you go into a room you feel more comfortable shutting up in?"
The sharp, stinging handprint on my cheek was a gentle reminder of her love.
"I am serious. You car is falling apart," she lovingly yelled.
It was then that I issued the line men have been issuing since 36 months after the first sale of a Model T. "Sweetheart, it's paid for."
"But your medical bills from one wreck will total more than the money you are saving by driving it," she said with a hint of Vulcan in her voice.
Then I uttered the second-oldest line.
"It gets me from A to B, sweetie."
Of course, I have failed to tell her about the handful of times my car has overheated, stalled out, or needed essential parts such as alternators or transmissions replaced, because I didn't want to worry her. Plus I didn't want her on my ass.
"Look, I know you are frugal, baby, and that is admirable in theory. But it's maddening in real life," she said. "I haven't ridden in that thing in two years now because it is so nasty. You have floorboard trash and fast food wrappers seat-high. You have gum smashed into the carpet, and the whole car smells like sour milk. It's not like you love that car or treat it like your baby. Time to get rid of it. What do you think?"
"I think this is the one where Mr. Burns releases the hounds at Homer's company party."
"Dammit!" She yanked the remote control from my hand and threw it through the bay window.
I stood up. "Sweetheart, I am from Texas! And that means I don't get rid of an old car until the air conditioner runs out. Understand? If the air blows cold, it must not be sold."
She left it alone and went into the other room. I stared at the smoky grayness of the TV screen.
She's right, I thought. I have an ABS light permanently on, the MAINTENANCE light is always on, the knobs are missing off the radio, and the interior smells like the State Fair on week three.
But I just can't get rid of something that it would take too much energy to clean out.
posted by Clubber Lang at 11:41 AM
1 Comments:
People should read this.
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