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My beloved Dodge Caravan, my personal gateway to the world broke down Tuesday. My daughters and I were driving down the road and all of the sudden she just decided she didn’t want to go any further. So she didn’t.
Do you know one of the hardest phone calls to make? To your husband about your car. Somehow the male species is wired to believe that every little thing that goes wrong with a car is to be laid at the driver’s lead feet. And they always want every minute little detail. It’s one of those times when it seems like your speaking two different languages.
“My van died.”
“What do you mean it died?”
“It stopped going.”
“What do you mean it stopped going?”
“We were going. Then we weren’t.”
“What sound did it make?”
“It didn’t make a sound, it was dead!!”
“Before it died!!!”
“It just stopped.”
“What do you mean it just stopped?!!”
Then he wants to know where it happened, where I had been, how fast had I been going, and if the radio was on (an implication that there was in fact a noise and I missed it).
He was out of town, on the golf course even. So, he gives me his AAA information over the phone (no small feat – I think he was still destracted by the noise that wasn’t). I called them to come haul my beloved vehicle to the Dodge dealer. My travelling golfer makes it back to town, goes by the dealer before visiting hours are over, then home for more questions, more spiels about driving slower, and some fresh nonsense about pulling away from stop lights slowly.
I have her back now, after a bus load of money. So much money that my girls and I were beginning to think we had a new story on our hands, “The Dodge Who Stole Christmas”.
It’s all good, though. On the grand radar of life, car trouble isn’t even a blip on the screen. Besides, most things in life can be looked back on and laughed at. Especially if there was a man involved.
Make each moment count double!