When we got my car back over the weekend, DearDR decided that he would drive it for awhile. I would miss my daily dose of NPR (the beat-up station wagon that is “our” second car — it actually still technically belongs to my in-laws) has no working radio. I tend to think of the Camry as “my” car, and DearDR is still trying to convince me that’s it’s “ours”.
To which I say, “Whatever.”
In any case, driving to work Monday morning, I noticed that the gas gauge in the beat-up station wagon was ready to drop below E. Of course. I don’t know what happens in other relationships, but my husband has to be ALL THE WAY out of gas before he actually puts more in the car. He has run out of gas a few times.
To which I say, “Dumma$$.”
Although I often stop right off the Bridgeville exit to get gasoline on the mornings I need it, I decided not to risk it this morning. I pulled off the Crafton exit, into the lone gas station there ($1.99 a gallon, still! I was outraged), turned off the car, and filled ‘er up.
And then it didn’t start.
To which I said, “%$#@&*!” A few times, very loudly. A couple of times over the phone at DearDR (sorry, babe).
After losing and then regaining my shite, I located jumper cables, and a man coming out of the little convenience store offered to give my car a jump. I got to work, but I was already considering that maybe I should’ve, at the very least, started my day over.
And then DearDR called and said, “My dad backed the Cadillac into our house.”
To which I said, “Your Dad crashed into our house??”
Yes, my FIL, backing into our driveway, misjudged something or another (car back bumper in relation to location of brick wall), and hit our house.
The house? Is fine.
My FIL’s Cadillac? Not so good.
I haven’t seen the damage yet (it strikes me as morbid curiosity to ask, “Can I see what ya did to your car, Dad?”). My poor FIL — physically okay, BTW — is apopletic over the accident.
First off, my ILs, although not typically “car” people, enjoyed driving the Cadillac. They had never owned a Cadillac before, and their reasoning when buying it — aside from the fantastic deal they got — was that it was probably the last car they would buy.
And it’s a nice car. Very pimped out. If you can say that about a Cadillac.
Second off, the Cadillac features rear sensors in the bumper that let you know when you’re getting close to something back there. They make a very audible noise inside of the car when the bumper is, say, six inches away from, oh, I don’t know, a brick wall, for example.
To which I say, “Hmmm. Maybe Dad does really need Miracle Ear for Christmas.”