Yesterday I started my car and she just didn’t sound right. Not only that, the whole danged thang was shaking so much I could barely hear myself swear. As I had an appointment, I decided to risk it and I headed out. My fingers were crossed all the way.
I made it just fine, but after getting home I thought it best to cruise by my mechanic’s shop and ask his advice (as well as confirm he could take my car the next day). When I told him everything that was concerning me, he said he didn’t trust my driving it at all and offered to take my car right then and there as well as give me a ride home. He looked genuinely worried, so I left my car there.
I’m not gonna lie – I’m slightly freaked. I love my car. I know it’s old and that its life is finite. It can’t last forever anymore than I can. I’m just not ready to bid it farewell. If you think I’m overreacting, believe me when I say I’m not. This repair could end up costing more than the old gal is worth. That’s what we call a pickle, folks.
I’m trying to control my stress habit, and to just go with the auto flow. I trust my mechanic completely. He is honest and skilled. With that in mind, I suppose I should set any fretting aside and wait to hear his prognosis.
In the meantime, I’ll drive the rental around. The brand-new, crappy-turning-radius rental.
And I’ll pine for my sweet ’66 Volvo. She’s a peach.