Where the hell did March and April go?
I know one week disappeared having my youth and vigour shamelessly exploited by certain disabled members of my family unit, but that’s a subject for a different post.
Another few weeks have been spent getting to know the new love of my life, Laila the Ford Fiesta. We adore each other, but there are some kinks to work out. First, being of European manufacture, her indicator lever is on the wrong damn side. A decade-old habit of simultaneously changing down gears and flicking on my blinkers has been abruptly stymied. This is how I turn corners now: Change gear – wiper – cuss word – wiper off – indicator on.
Secondly, we have vastly differing views on the appropriate RPM at which to change up gears. When I first took one for a test drive, I asked the salesman what the little green arrow was that kept popping up on the dash. Apparently it serves to indicate the most economical moment to change gears. Which, incidentally, is a consistent 2000 revs earlier than my usual driving preference. I’m going to cover it up with duct tape.
Finally, some German heller Funken decided a high-pitched ching-ching-ching-ching sound would be an effective deterrent to driving without a seat belt. Granted, I always drive with my seat belt on and so should you all. The problem is, I’ve adopted an odd habit from my Old Man. My parents live a very long way from anything relevant and after a long drive, when we turned into the start of our 6 kilometre long dirt road, he’d always unbuckle his seat belt. I’m not sure why, considering a seat belt isn’t exactly uncomfortable and fellow motorists are more likely to drive like unconscionable dickheads on a dirt road. I’ve always put it down to his special brand of crazy, but now it appears I do the same bloody thing. Except I live in the middle of the Melbourne suburbs, not some Far North Queensland backwater. I didn’t even realise I did it until I bought this car, but sometimes I’ll find myself unclicking the belt a good 3 kilometres down the road, and Laila absolutely flips her shit at me.
Calm down, we’re nearly there.
The speed limit is FORTY you stupid piece of machinery, the only danger is someone strolling up to the window and stabbing me –
CHING-CHING-CHING-CHING-CHING-CHING! CHING!! CHING!!!!
AARRGHHHH!! SHUTUP SHUTUP SHUTUP SHUTUP!!! I’LL PUT IT BACK ON!!!!
Even worse, the damn thing has weight sensors that can tell whether there is someone in the passenger seat who should be wearing a seat belt. Last week, my adopted 20-year-old Nikki bought me a pink concrete Buddha statue. I’m not sure why, I guess it’s just something the young ‘uns do these days. So I tucked it safely into the passenger seat, headed off down the road and…
And so I found myself buckling up an inanimate concrete deity as if it was a toddler.
Aside from that, I LOVE her. We’re gonna get along fine.
Then there’s the Drummer Boy. He’d always been very clear about not wanting anything serious as he was suffering from some fairly severe Lady Induced Trauma. Which was cool with me to begin with, but after a couple of months it can become draining and unproductive. So last week I said mate, I’m happy to be friends, but you clearly have some issues to sort out so I’m going to put myself back on the market now. And oh, the drama. All of a sudden I’m the greatest thing since Megan Fox, and he’s wailing to Nikki in the corner of the pub while I’m trying to hide behind the bouncer and simultaneously avoid my ex, who’s there with his newest girlfriend that inexplicably hates me even though we broke up over four years ago.
So that’s been my Easter. How are you all?