Tuesday, May 24, 2005

I have been having a very bad run with car problems lately.

It all started when I was driving Mr R's work car, and had a run in with a bike. A push bike. I was quietly minding my own business, sitting stationary in traffic at some traffic lights, when a not too good cyclist was riding along the footpath. He swerved to go around some pedestrians and a lamp post - riding at no more than 2 kms an hour, and somehow managed to fall off the footpath, and his bike and land akwardly on the front panel of the car, next to the bonnet. I wound down ny window and politely asked him if he was alright, and then asked him if there was any damage to the car. "Hmm", he said "there is a bit of a dent, but it will just pop right out again!". At this point I was starting to get a bit annoyed, "Well yeah, but I am not a panel beater, so I am not sure how I am going to pop it right out again. I am going to have to get your details." Then the traffic behind me starts beeping as if I am having a casual chat with this cyclist for the fun of it, so we move up the road a bit where we can sort of pull over. He finds his business card. I swear at a taxi driver abusing me. All is just peachy. (Not for him when he got the $900 bill for the damage - I feel a bit sorry for him. Can you get insurance when you ride a bike for damage to other road users?)

Then my sister decides she doesn't want to drive around my old little '86 laser anymore because she has a better offer, and I now have to try and sell the bloody thing. Roadworthy certificates, advertising, people ringing at all hours, it is driving me crazy. Then my current car breaks down so I am back in my little Laser hoping to not get crushed by rampaging trucks and suburban 4WDs.

At the same time I am looking around for a suitable car to replace mine that will fit a baby seat and pram and yet is not too big. I am currently in a Commodore which is snoringly boring and too big for me. I am so sick of cars and car stuff - I really hate everything to do with cars. I want a visit from the magic car fairy that will take away my old cars, deliver me with something suitable, and leave my bank balance intact.

This all seems much worse than it really is due to my currently fragile mental state, where I find myself crying for no reason all the time. Last week Mr R told a joke that had me hysterically sobbing. He is now sort of carefully tiptoeing around me, hoping to not offend. But it's hard for him, when at any point he could get in trouble for chewing, or showering, or talking during Lost. If only he would become the magic car fairy, he might be back in my good books.

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