Goals

We all have goals, don't we, dearest? I can usually be supportive of other people's goals, but now and again, I resent the aspirations of inanimate objects.

Volvo had the goal of scaring the holy living crap out of me this week and oh, my, did he succeed! Yay. Volvo! Live the dream, baby! Volvo spent the night at the repair shop and after spending the day playing with the boys, was given a clean bill of health. Yup. A mere $130 later, all the lights on Volvo's dash were turned off and I was called to come and pick him up.

Say it with me...WHEW! The mechanic couldn't get the dash warning lights to come on again, so he told me to drive the car around and bring it in immediately if the scary Transmission Arrow of Death came back. I thanked him. I went to my car. I drove Volvo back to work. I handed over the keys to Roommate to drive home, as we carpool to work, so she had a way to get home.

Carpooling this morning meant walking to work together, btw. Normally, Roommate starts work at 0630, so I drive in every morning 90 minutes earlier than I need to be at the lab. Because we carpool. We're taking one car off the road. We're saving on gas and reducing emissions. It's the right thing to do. You know, if you continue to smirk like that, your face is going to freeze that way.

Anyway. As I was trudging in with her this morning, I woke up enough to ask, "Why am I walking in with you this early? Since we're not driving, I could have walked in later."

"So you can spend time with me."

"Oh, yes," I replied. "I do enjoy that. But why am I walking in with you this early?"

I got The Look. [No, we're not a couple. I've gone over this already. Pay attention.]

Moving on. I gave the keys to Volvo, newly returned to my bosom, to Roommate. And Roommate drove Volvo home. And then Roommate called.

"The lights are back on."



Different lights. Not the scary Transmission Arrow of Death, but still. Sigh. Evidently, Volvo's new goal is to play with the mechanics again.

I resent this nearly as much as my underwear's goal of becoming a thong. Both are obviously trying to make me very uncomfortable.

Rude inanimate objects.