I took my car (a.k.a. My Boyfriend) in for maintenance last night. Took care of his fluids. Lubed him up. Made him feel good. I get a little jealous when those other guys have their hands all over him, but it's only fair. He never complains when I get a massage. Why should I mind when he gets a little foreplay?
I always feel good about myself when I take him in for an oil change or to get his brakes fixed. I have not always been so good to cars. I once built a car out of pieces that had fallen off of my previous car. I picked the items up from the side of the road and stowed them in the trunk until it was time to create a new vehicle.
I have vowed that this time would be different.
I was doing okay for a while. Then a really large black plastic piece came loose from the front end of the car. I dragged it for several miles before I decided to pull over and tear it all the way off. It didn't really seem essential. Less drag means better gas mileage. Problem solved.
I carried that piece around with me in the trunk for several months. Recently, I decided that I was going to throw it away. I was not going to go down the same road as I had with the last car.
Everything was going so well.
Apparently, my car came with a few extra parts. The mechanic assured me that these parts aren't absolutely necessary. I mean, sure...if I want to control the amount of air intake from the sides of the radiator I might consider putting the pieces back on. But really, it's the sides. Who gives a f*ck about the sides?
When I comb my hair (rare), do I look at the sides of my head? No. I look at the front. That's all that matters. When I brush my teeth, do I brush the sides of my teeth? No. I brush the ones in front. Again, they're all that matter. Cars are probably much the same.
So now I have two small black plastic flaps in my trunk. I also have a wig, a formal dress, a pair of heels, a mask, and a roll of toilet paper, but that sh*t's practical.