So part of the arrangement James and I made was that we’d pay off my car. There’s not much left on it, like a thousand bucks, and it’s one more bill I don’t need.
The car apparently got wind of this somehow, and activated the self destruct, because today, as I was coming down an off-ramp enroute to the farmer’s market,* the engine suddenly roared like an injured bear.
“Oh, dear,” I thought, “my vehicle is malfunctioning. How inconvenient,” which came out “SHITSHITSONOFABITCHDon’tdothistomecarnotNOWshitshitSHIT.”
I pulled over and rebooted. This did nothing, and since that’s the extent of my troubleshooting with all mechanical devices, I drove home, listening to the car roar whenever I accelerated. My vague knowledge of cars said “You know, that could be a muffler thing,” but hell, what do I know?
James looked at it, and said “Yeah, your muffler’s shot.”
So now I gotta go get that fixed. Inconvenient, but at least it happened before I moved out.
*All these cookbooks I buy tell me to check farmer’s markets for produce, because it’s cheaper, better, and doesn’t contribute to destroying the planet nearly so much. I figure I’ll try it. I only anticipate cooking a dinner or two a week, and I can probably plan that in advance. I hope. God willing.
Of course, the nice thing about living alone is that you can eat corn-on-the-cob for dinner, and nobody will be around to judge you.
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