this week, my phone and car both died, [both of them, in the same week], and i plummeted into the very depths of the medieval times. i fully expect to be eaten by a dragon today.
i happened to be at a four-way stop when my car died, so that was fun. my car was sooooo dead, the blinkers didn't even work. people were honking at me and yelling at me and waving politely at me [i mean, not] to get out of the way.
and, wouldn't you know it, no matter how hard they screamed, no matter how they laid on their horns or cussed me out, i didn't even move a centimeter. do you know why?
because [my] studies [yesterday] show that helping someone fix something is 100 % more effective than yelling at them to keep using the thing that needs fixing, especially in the case of dead things.
such as in, like, my car.
i wished desperately for big muscles, so i could either push my car off the road or stroll casually up to the lady laying on her horn behind me and say, "excuse me, ma'am, you seem awfully eager to see me move; care to HELP instead of sitting there like a bump on a log on a horn in a car in a hole in the bottom of the sea?"
but i didn't magically sprout muscles. i didn't stand on my car and scream back. i didn't move. i just sat there and tried to look younger and sadder than i was (because i thought, maybe, it might make people feel sorry for me and stop yelling so loudly). finally, finally, a cranky young feller pushed me through the intersection using the bumper of his suv. he sped off before we could become best friends.
then God sent me a creepy old angel with holey shoes, jumper cables, and a moustache to help me get my car going so i could slowly urge it the rest of the way home.
long story short, we made it. shot-wheels and me creaked into my driveway and heaved a long sigh before settling into the ground with a mighty shutter.
ah, the life of the mighty cavalier.