(title with thanks to Colin from the Amazing Race 5, who made my favorite declaration of any reality series EVER when he whined the immortal words: "My ox is broken!!!")
3 AM: I am awakened from a sound and grateful sleep by a ringing phone.
LJ: "Yeah--the muthafuckin' car just broke down again!"
We had made plans to take it to the shop over in Maywood tomorrow morning. No joke--tomorrow morning. The alarm clock is set for 8:00, for just that purpose. But the damn thing couldn't wait, and from what LJ describes, it may have just spat out its transmission. Thank god for warranties (of course, that assumes that these will be covered repairs. If not, I'll be selling a broken-down truck on which we owe thousands).
And regardless of WHAT they find:
--thank god for "roadside assistance" clauses that can invoke a tow-truck in the middle of the night;
--thank god for cell phones, which in this case prevented my man from having to climb the exit ramp of the Eisenhower to try and find an open, working pay phone at 3 in the morning;
--thank god for even-tempered men who realize: the girlfriend is not the problem; the inanimate object is the problem. The girlfriend is an ally who is trying to help. (CR would not have been perceptive enough to realize this simple fact--with CR, this would have been a howling, raging, whining, bitching, tantrummy nightmare. With LJ, it's just an annoyance--which leaves me free to terrify myself with worst-case scenarios involving our finances.)
I didn't have a car for five years--what on earth made me think I needed one NOW?
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