Ode to a Car, Though the Car Owes Me.

Ah yes. After over a week of staying home, safe in my house, not on the roads in my car with four bad tires waiting for a blow out at any second, my dear husband finally took it in to have four brand new ones to replace the balding, tread separating death traps. So my first venture out, was to take a little trip to my favorite shop in Metamora for some Iris embroidery floss (not available anywhere in the St. Clair County area) and fabric to work on my pillow top I started there the week before. A blustery day, it didn't hamper my spirits any as I tooled down the express way singing along to Susan Boyle.
Well wouldn't you know, just before and exit to the little town of Emmett, I heard and felt a huge thud coming from under my car. Not knowing what it was, I decided maybe it would be best to turn around at the exit and start back home. I barely made it off the exit, and drifted into a gas station. My transmition bit the dust! I couldn't drive! So naturally, I didn't have my cell phone with me, and had to ask the kind man boy working in the station to use his phone to call for help. With his cell battery quickly dieing, I left messages where ever I could think to summon someone to wake up my sleeping husband to come and get me. After almost an hour, I finally got a hold of him, he came and got me, and now my car sits in the transmission shop for God only knows how long. I won't miss church though. As uncomfortably embarrassing as it is, I'll take my husbands boat car, with loud exhaust, the back seat gone and bent rotors, and hobble into town. I'll just park far enough away so no one will hear or see what he calls a car! After all, it's Mother's Day, and I know the beautiful service will more than make up for my transportation.