The High Sisterhood of Schlitty Automobiles

I drive a really crappy car. It’s almost 18 years old and it goes through phases of obstreperous recalcitrance, like playing “will the brakes work this time?” roulette with me and doing that thing where it turns the windshield wipers on by itself and never shuts them off.

This morning a woman stopped at the intersection outside our house and her car horn started blowing. It was blowing and blowing and I observed her banging on the steering wheel before laying her head on her arms and then recovering and driving on. I love that woman. Her dilemma seriously perked up a decaying soul and she probably will complain tonight to her husband about her schlitty car and how the goldurning horn won’t turn off and how embarrassing it is. But she saved me a little today. Thank you, horn lady.

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