Car Kharma

I have always had a love/hate relationship with my car.

Today I hate it. (but shhhhhh, don't tell anyone, it hears you and reacts, I swear!)

Last week when the hubs was out fishing on a lake somewhere, bonding with other fish and fishermen, one of my turn signal lights went out. No prob.

Now I'm a resourceful woman. I can change a lightbulb, even a car lightbulb. I went to the auto parts store near work, gave the older cranky guy my make & model and he sold me two yellow bulbs. When I got home I popped the hood, right away pressing both of the palms of my hands to the sides of my cheeks, my mouth forming a large "O". Where the heck is the socket? I pleaded with my neighbor (who is known to be "car handy") to assist me in this tiny bulb change. He and I poked around under the hood, and were successful in changing the yellow bulb. But alas, I guess as far as the changing of the yellow bulb goes, one must also purchase and change the white ones too. Now, neither bulb worked. I had both my back turn signals, but neither of my front ones.

Safety was on my mind, but not in my car.

Immediately I cursed all the times when I had thought about buying a new car. Nothing major is wrong with my car, but it is paid for...and eleven years old...starting to loose it's sassiness...hey, it never had sassiness, that was just me, but the car had already had it's feelings hurt. It was striking out, baaaad car kharma. No matter how much I whisper "I'm sorry", the car refuses to give, even just a little. At eleven, the car is still emotionally immature and unforgiving.

So, yesterday, Mother's Day, my husband buys more bulbs and a flasher gizmo, assuredly to remedy the situation. He tinkered (he's really good at tinkering) and he pulled all kinds of stuff out and put the stuff back, and lo and behold. No turn signals. Neither front nor back, and although I have break lights, I regretfully inform you, I've been driving around today using the much revered Hand Signals.

My arm hurts.

I turned alot.

Each time I turned, I held my breath, risking the chance that the 17 year old new driver in the hot rod in front of me had glanced at the pages in the driver's manual that showed the hand turn signals. Please be a cautious reader.

In spite of my glamorous arm moves, I made it home with my dignity intact. Silently I mutter..."hurry home baby, and stop at Auto Zone first." I'm so glad my hubs is back. His handy self and his 15 bags of frozen fish come in handy around here.