Last Wednesday (the last day before our week-long break from classes), the Business Law professor went over our most recent test. He mentioned, by name, several students who had gotten outstanding scores on the test. One of those students was me.
At last I get a second of recognition for working hard and getting good grades. And I missed it. I was at home calling a $*#! tow truck to haul my $*#! van to the $#*! repair shop.
Last night my spousal unit went over Care and Maintenance of Your New Car 101. I should brake and accelerate gently for the first thousand miles or so. Check the fluids when I fill it up. Monitor the dashboard warning lights. Take care of the paint job, and it would be preferable not to have bumper stickers on the vehicle.
Now, understand: he knows as well as I do that it’s my car now, I’ll do as I damn well please with it, and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of it. He went through the lecture mostly to make himself feel better, because he is a guy and a bit of a control freak. I’m being just as overprotective of my new car as he was of his—when I got out of class today, I actually did a walkaround before getting in to make sure she was as I’d left her. And I’ve never had a bumper sticker on any car of mine, even the crappiest.
So I just listened and nodded and agreed with him, because I know it’s difficult for him to turn the whole thing over to someone else. If the occasional lecture on proper car care helps him feel better about this sizable new investment we’ve acquired, I can put up with that.
But I do have my ornery streak, and now I’m so very, very tempted to hang some big purple fuzzy dice from the rear view just to see if he has a stroke.