One Step Ahead of the EPA

If I had a good car, I would live in squalor. The only time I deep clean is when my car is in the shop. I can't go anywhere today, so I've been sweating with the moldies, and the dust bunnies, and the greasy cobwebs. I've even sandblasted the microwave, and that's staying the course! It's exhausting and disgusting work, and keeps me from pondering the hideous cost of the repairs and maintenance.

A CollageMama Serenity Secret: Cleaning the upstairs bathroom of teen sons is an effective way to banish fearful thoughts about expensive car repairs.

Sometime this week the Buick odometer will turn to 100,000.0 miles. So the Buick could celebrate and have a little ego booster, I wanted to send it to a day spa for a tirecure, and some chamois pampering. Can't you see the cucumber slices over the headlights while it has a relaxing soak in hot carnuba wax? Instead it is getting front and rear brake jobs, lube, transmission service, and some kind of bolts that broke off when Darryl and his brother Darryl were evaluating the brake situation. Even for a '96 Buick Skylark this doesn't sound like the equivalent of kicky hot pink sandals and a matching handbag. So I am getting the Skylark a flirty new driver's side window motor so it can pull up and roll down next to graphite gray Mercury Cougars at stoplights and say, "Hey, Baby!"

After driving the rental car for a week, I forgot that my window could be rolled down but not back up. Oops! I hope to have my car back tomorrow with brakes that work, and even a window that I can roll down at tollbooths for a change! After that, I will check out the gently-used record store for a recording of "Don Giovanni". Of course I will have no money once I have working brakes and windows. It is a vicious cycle. Let's diagram it this way:

car works >>> condo is a pit >>> can go anyplace >>> have no money to do anything when I get there,
car doesn't work >>> condo is fit for habitation >>> can't go anywhere >>> have no money anyway
desperately want Domino's to deliver a sausage pizza.

I've never had a toll tag, mostly because I've never gone anywhere. [See Diagram A.1 above] Lately I've realized that I will probably have my arm ripped off when I'm hit from behind in the toll lane should I actually get to leave the condo. There I will be, trying to throw the coins into the basket-chute with my car door ajar in the narrow lane. Some impatient pick-up driver or momentarily distracted SUV parent will ram into the Skylark. My arm will fly off into the basket. This will tie up the toll lane, and bring the radio station traffic helicopters. It will be inconvenient for metroplex motorists, to say the least.

The non-functioning driver's window is a major nuisance in parking garages and the drive-thru bank, too, but it does cut down on my drive-thru fast food consumption. And, yes, I want fries with that.

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