It's a well known fact that, of the two of us, I am the one less likely to freak out when faced with one of life's little challenges. I am the optimist, the one who looks on the bright side and the one who stays calm in the face of adversity, so, when Hugh actually used the phrase "Don't panic" to me earlier today when we dropped my car off at the mechanic, it was quite the role reversal.
As it turns out, it was also poor advice given the fact that my car was basically declared dead on arrival at the shop.
Dead.
DOA.
He's a goner.
Ok, maybe not a total goner, but, on his last legs to be certain. Which, if I am being fair, is not exactly unexpected, considering he is twelve years old, has just shy of 200,000 miles on his engine, and has been rode hard and, often, put away wet.
Bless his heart.
Still. This sucks. We are now in the market for his replacement, and, I am not looking forward to the headache. I have thoroughly enjoyed not having a car payment for years now; just the thought of having one gives me the anxiety hives. Plus, what if we can't find something that fits my lifestyle as well as James did?
What? Who's James? My car! Have you not been paying attention, here?
What? You don't name your inanimate objects? Wow. You're weird.
And, I digress.
So, yes, it's time to put James out to pasture and to bring in the rookie, whatever that ends up looking like, and, I'm not supposed to panic.
Ha! As if!
This the same vehicle you did that little off-roading trip in when looking for that wedding site? Timing is everything, isn't it?
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